Redemption, Restitution, & Resurrection
by SectumSemprae
Summary: Sequel to "Salve, Salvage, & Salvation". Three years after Zsasz's fate, Danielle's life is normal again – only now an unknown menace is sending her notes. Is Zsasz back, or has a new enemy come to play?
1. Prologue

_A/N: So, last we left off, after months of stalking and failing to obtain Danielle's mark, Zsasz had plummeted over the Sprang Bridge. Danielle had survived and gone on to be a self-defense instructor at Gotham General Hospital. This is the sequel, three years after we left the events of __**"Salve, Salvage, &amp; Salvation"**__… Special shout out to fellow Zsasz writer __**pshycogurl335 **__for helping me find the inspiration for the sequel - thank you so much! Enjoy! :)_

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman.

-0-

**Redemption, Retribution, &amp; Restitution**

**-Prologue: RUNNING-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

Screams echoed in the dank tunnels.

A man's footsteps pounded frantically, rhythmically, drowning out the screams in his own mind.

He glanced back. A guard lay on the wet cobblestones, blood gushing from a knife wound. One hand covered his chest, while the other lay dangerously limp.

The man kept running. He knew they would be after him soon. They would discover his empty cage, empty shackles.

He was never going back there, _never!_

More yelling. It seemed the guards had found their friend in bad shape and the cage empty. "Alert the master! The prisoner Zsasz has escaped!"

_Zsasz? Is that my name?_

He continued to run. Torchlight flickered off the wet, slippery, _treacherous_ cobblestones.

_I-I did it! I can't believe this! I am actually getting out of this hellhole!_

A half-smile graced the prisoner's gaunt face.

There were two paths ahead. His mind said right, but his feet pointed left. Which way?

"This way!" The yelling was getting closer!

He went left. His lungs screamed as he hauled up the incline. The tunnel curved, an area he could not remember. He just hoped there was a way out-

The man pulled to an abrupt stop. His heart pounded wildly. A lowered gate, blocking his escape, condemning him to his captors' mercy. _No! No, there must be another way!_

_Hope! _There was a tiny gap at the top of the gate._ Please, let me be wiry enough to slip through…!_ He scrambled up the metal lattice.

_Thump!_ He landed on the other side, gasping for breath, flashing a cocky smile over his shoulder. Too easy.

His eyes widened.

_Oh no._

A sheer drop awaited him. His stomach lurched sickeningly. The stones were slick this close to the edge, too slick to grab safely. He could see trees, possibly a river at the bottom of the chasm, with fingers of mist weaving through the vast forest below.

There was no way down. No way _forward_.

He was ended right there. For a moment he could swear he saw the light, fading, going out.

Yelling and footsteps invaded his ears. They were coming! They would find him! And then he would go back in that cell, like an animal.

_I won't!_ The thought came with a fierceness. His eyes narrowed. _I will die first!_

The man took a step forward—

**-/-/-/-/-**


	2. Chapter 1: Ass-Kicking Tuesdays

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman.

**Redemption, Retribution, &amp; Restitution**

**-Chapter One: ASS-KICKING TUESDAYS-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

It was going to be hard walking home later. The fog billowed against the window of the small self-defense studio, like white smoke against deepening blue shadows, obscuring the small courtyard outside from view. Soon the orange lamps would come on outdoors, affording only the barest measure of safety for a lonely traveler. Danielle's thoughts kept drifting that way even as Jillian attempted to talk her ear off instead of practice.

"What if Killer Croc attacks me in a dark alley?"

"He won't," she reassured her student for the ninth time, "now practice disarming Mary."

The young woman's eyes brimmed with wild scenarios. Danielle swore she would pop a blood vessel. "But what if it's really Scarecrow and he shoots me up with his fear stuff?" she spoke a little too quickly.

"Remember what I've taught you in this class," she replied patiently. "Don't go to dangerous places, and you're already a step ahead of the criminals…"

"But what if the Joker finds out where I live and comes into my house?"

Danielle gave her a flat look. "The Joker is dead, remember?"

"Oh yeah…"

Just a typical Tuesday night. Danielle looked around the small studio and pride swelled in her. Students of all ages – some younger, many older – filled her class, sweating and focusing and slowly moving from victims to survivors before her very eyes… _I was the victim of a serial killer, and I turned my life around._ She rubbed the diamond-shaped scar on the back of her neck absently. _If I can do it, they can do it!_

Who would have thought that their dream could take off like this? It was three years ago last August when Bruce Wayne had stood in the lobby upstairs, smiling down at her and offering her the chance of a lifetime. After a long absence, they were reinstating self-defense classes at Gotham General Hospital – and Bruce Wayne wanted Danielle Lee of all people to lead them.

_Three years._ She thought. _My, how time flies._

Theodore waved her over. She winced at the huge bandage on his nose while he shyly adjusted his glasses. _I should have taught him more. It's not his fault. Two months of class, and he couldn't stop his bullies from attacking him again. _A week ago, a neighborhood gang had cornered Theodore on his way home from work and broken his nose. Hearing that one of her students had landed in the hospital, in spite of all his hard work… It was _devastating_ to know her class hadn't protected him. _But he stayed alive,_ she pushed away the vicious guilt. _That's victory enough sometimes._

"Um, Miss Danielle, can you help me? I can't seem to get this move." In spite of the injury, Theodore had never stopped being positive. She was constantly amazed at his resiliency.

"Demonstrate it for me," she encouraged him.

Theodore and his sparring partner Lloyd did as she instructed. She watched carefully as they grappled. _He has the moves… but he's closed on one side._

"Open up your posture: you're shielding your left too much." She adjusted Theodore's body gently. "When your posture is open and alert, you can react more quickly to threats."

"But doesn't that mean I'm leaving myself open for a fight?"

"The goal of self-defense isn't to fight. First and foremost, it's to escape. You're looking for the quickest opening to run… even if you have to create that opening yourself." She nodded to Lloyd, "Try to notice where his balance is off, and then use his weakness to your advantage." The two men repeated the sequence, and this time Lloyd went flying to the mat. Theodore looked up, a bashful grin on his face.

"Thank you, Miss Danielle!"

She smiled back. "Anytime."

The class practiced for twenty more minutes, and then Danielle called everyone's attention and asked them to stand in a circle.

"You have all practiced so hard tonight!" she smiled proudly at her eager students. "I have a question for all of you to answer: what is your biggest fear? It's important to acknowledge your fears so you can overcome them, and so you'll know you're not alone. Let's go around the room and share our fears, starting with you, Lloyd."

The burly mechanic, who had been attacked by a group of thugs near the shipyards, grinned. "My biggest fear…would have to be getting eaten by a shark and somehow it doesn't choke to death on my bones. Dying in vain!" The class laughed.

"Um…" Theodore tapped his fingers together and then adjusted his glasses again. "My biggest fear is going someplace dark and getting jumped…not seeing it coming." The class nodded somberly.

"Mine are psychos," said Jillian, almost too cheerfully. She hadn't been assaulted or attacked before, but was taking the class as a preventative measure. "Like the supercriminals. They're so powerful, and there's just no reasoning with them!"

Her sparring partner Mary was wearing a long-sleeved violet cardigan. "I'm afraid of failing to be all I can be, " she said softly, pulling the sleeves lower down her hands to conceal the bandages on her wrists – Danielle had noticed them right away. "I don't necessarily mean my life cut short by an attack or anything, you know – just that I want to live up to my potential… Not let anything hold me back, you know?" Danielle made a mental note to watch Mary carefully for signs of increased depression – she seemed very fragile.

"Mine is being raped," her next student Monica said frankly. According to the referral, a family friend had attacked her in her home. "I—You know, I was lucky last time. I don't want it to happen again, cuz it could be worse next time."

"My fear is that I won't be able to protect my kids," Greta rasped. She had no marks on her at all, and she tended to hide her emotions, but Danielle knew that she was still feeling the effects of the mugging; she was with her children when it happened, and the perpetrator had waved a gun in her face for ten minutes before letting them go. "It's harder learning self-defense when you never know if an attacker is going to go for your kids. Makes it more of a challenge."

"Mine is being beaten to death," said Sarah, who was still sporting bruises around her neck from an assault. "Not being able to defend myself."

Becky was drying her eyes on her sleeve. "I-my biggest f-fear is… It's my uncle. That's it. I don't want to say anymore." Sarah rubbed her back.

"It's OK," Danielle said, looking first at Becky and then the rest of the class. "You're very brave for sharing your fears. Sharing is a good first step for knowing how to face them. Cecil, would you like to go next?"

Cecil absently rubbed the cast on his arm. He had been in the wrong place during a drive-by shooting. "My biggest fear is not helping a friend in need. If a friend were to ever go through this and feel they have to keep it a secret…my biggest fear is not being a good enough friend to them, to know something is wrong."

Finally, there was one person left: Scott Jones.

When Scott spoke, his voice barely rose above a whisper. He had bandages all over and bruises marred his milky white skin. He still wouldn't tell anyone who his attacker was. "I don't want to talk about my greatest fear," he said, hunching his good shoulder. A mop of brown hair hid his face.

"That's OK. Like I said earlier, you don't have to share if it makes you uncomfortable. Thank you everyone for participating in our lesson and supporting each other—"

"Miss Danielle?"

"Yes, Theodore?" She felt proud of the shy man for speaking up.

"What's your biggest fear?"

She opened her mouth and closed it again. Several of her students leaned forward slightly. When she spoke, the classroom was completely silent.

"My greatest fear," she began, "is that I will fail one of you or possibly all of you, and some monster will snuff out your brightness. My fear is that in spite of all our hard work here, small-minded criminals will continue hurting people and keeping everyone living in fear and pain." Absently, she rubbed her hand over her face - over the thin scar that ran across her forehead and nose. "And if I'm honest with myself, my greatest fear is to become a victim again."

Her class knew that she herself was the former victim of a serial killer. What they did not know was that the serial killer was none other than the infamous Victor Zsasz, who kept a tally on his skin for each victim after posing their lifeless bodies. None of them knew that he had attacked her multiple times, each time growing more and more fixated on his victim, his "zombie".

But then they didn't have to know these things. They knew that she was like them – a survivor, hoping to rebuild her life in the wake of horrific abuse – and that was enough.

"That," she continued, smiling, "is a huge reason why I teach this class. Each time I do, I am facing those fears head on." The students relaxed at her words and many of them smiled. "This is the end of our class for the day. I will look forward to seeing you all on Thursday, and remember that you can always call me if you need advice or support. Good night, and stay safe."

The class dispersed.

* * *

Danielle rolled her shoulders and sighed as she left the office. As much as she loved her work, class always took all the energy right out of her. _I wish I could just teleport home._

The hospital hallways were empty at this time of night, except for the emergency ward upstairs. But down here, in the basement… It was too quiet. Eerie.

She walked by the wooden door of the Records Room, her old job, quickly. When she passed the mailroom, she stuck her hand in her cubby out of habit. Her fingers touched fiber.

"Ahh, the joys of paperwork…" she trailed off in astonishment.

Her name was written in beautiful cursive on slightly weighty paper. _A note?_ She started to open it but thought better of it. She didn't need to be dawdling when it was already so dark outside. She stuck the paper in her pocket, vowing to read it over tea later. It looked like a personal note. She sighed.

The elevator came very quickly, taking her up to ground level. Much better lighting up here. No sooner had she arrived, the elevator across from hers opened, and none other than Bruce Wayne stepped out. His blue eyes twinkled when he saw her. "Hey, Danielle! How are those new pads working out?"

"They're perfect, Mr. Wayne!" she beamed. "Our students were just practicing on them now and they say they're softer! Thank you so much! We even have a little of the funding left, so I might spend it on more kneepads, other supplies…"

"That's terrific!" She was never sure if Bruce Wayne were listening or not. In spite of his charm, he had an airheadedness to him that was both enviable and frustrating. But she didn't mind. It was Bruce Wayne's funding that had reopened the hospital's self-defense program in the first place. She owed him, and to top it off, he had practically given her the job himself, thanks to her friend Mrs. Phillips.

"How's your family?" she asked earnestly. "How's your little girl?"

"Oh, Selina's fine," he smirked. Danielle smiled, picturing the fiery socialite Bruce Wayne had married. "She's at some charity event right now. And Helena's great. She's getting so big. She really keeps us on our toes!" A rare, genuine smile graced the billionaire's face.

"She must be beautiful."

"She really is. Well, I'd better get home to her!"

"Have a good evening, Mr. Wayne."

"Bruce, please," and with that, the billionaire hurried outside to his waiting car.

She saw Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne's personal butler, holding the door open for his master. One more person he meant to kill but didn't, she thought to herself. Sometimes she was tempted to talk to Bruce Wayne about it, ask how his butler felt as a fellow survivor of the madman. She would love to talk to someone with similar experiences and compare notes. But she didn't want to overstep her boundaries.

* * *

BRIING! As always, she jumped at the sound of the phone.

"Hey Dani, how was class?"

Danielle smiled. Cindy Gibson, her best friend, always called her when she got out of the office. Cindy left work an hour earlier than Danielle, now that she lived with her boyfriend Dante. The two girls had been housemates for three years, up until very recently, and Cindy still worked in the Records Room down the hallway. Danielle thought Cindy worried about her sometimes, being alone now.

"Class was good as always. They're getting it. How are the stacks?"

"Ugh!" Cindy groaned. "If I have to re-catalogue one more file from August, I swear I might-!"

"Might what? Resign?"

"Might knock Ms. Davis out and then resign! After I get her an icepack, that is. But enough about the dreaded mounds of papers. One more week til Turkey Day! You think you might wanna come over after all?"

"Maybe," Danielle laughed. "But are you sure you don't want it to be just you guys? You know, since it's Dante's first Thanksgiving with your family?"

"So bring a date yourself, girl! See any cute guys in your class that you might wanna…you know…?"

"God, so unprofessional! You know I wouldn't date one of my students." _Actually,_ she thought, _I'm probably not ready to date anyone at all. Maybe I never will be._ "Though I did get a note today…"

"Ooh!" Cindy could barely contain her enthusiasm. "Is it a love note?"

"I don't know! I haven't read it yet!"

"Why haven't you? Trying to kill me with suspense?"

"I'm going to read it over tea when I get home," Danielle promised. "Now I'd better get going. It's dark already… And you know how dangerous it gets around here at night."

"Always the self-defense teacher," Cindy teased affectionately. "Think about Thanksgiving, now! I'll see you Thursday for our coffee date!"

"Bye!" Danielle slid the cellphone back in her pocket and wrapped the thick wool jacket more snugly around her body.

The orange lights of the hospital faded as she walked down the darkening streets, back toward the Coventry district where she lived. The fog had cleared and the sky was full of cold stars, visible as she got further away from the populous area. She could hear the water of Gotham Bay lapping, even though it was a few blocks away still. Or maybe it was her imagination.

There were no cars or people on this street. Long dark alleyways stretched off of the main street, leading to empty places. For a self-defense teacher, the irony was not lost on her how isolated her walk home was. Not even a bus ran down this way. But it was the only way home with constant streetlights. The can of mace slapped lightly against her leg from the pocket of her long jacket.

It was times like these when she wished for her baseball bat.

_Always be mindful of your surroundings._

If she were a younger and more naive person, she would go out wandering all night, looking at all the lights displays as the holidays approached. Maybe go someplace like Gotham Square and watch all the young couples wander as well. She missed those carefree days. Even with…with _him_ chasing her, there had been times where she felt so…liberated.

_A knife biting into her shoulder, neck, arms, abdomen, across her face—_

The streetlights made the frost on the pavement glow a golden color. It had not snowed yet. It was late November, and the snow wouldn't be here for another couple weeks, most likely. Until then there would be fog, and rain, and sleet, and frost, and cold cloudless nights, like tonight. She shivered and walked faster. Winter was coming.

Never mind tea. What about a nice hot cup of coffee!

Out in the distance on the other side of the water, the downtown skyline stretched, the part of Gotham that never slept, and Wayne tower loomed over it all. The lights of the Pioneer Bridge blinked and twinkled like so many stars. She used to cross that bridge every day, into the Bowery District, her old home. Now that she lived in Modern Gotham, she had to find occasion to go over there. It had been a few weeks since she had visited the piers in Amusement Mile. She hoped that the seals were braving the cold successfully.

_A flash of a man, standing behind her, fingers on her neck— _She didn't bother to turn. The flashbacks didn't bother her so much anymore. Not anymore.

And yet she stopped, fist clenched. Three years, three long years, and sometimes it felt like only yesterday.

Her tormentor was gone. He was _dead_. Victor Zsasz was dead – _and she was the one who had killed him_.

_You bastard,_ she thought. _Even from beyond the grave, you haven't gone away. Why? Why can't you just let me be in peace? Accept it. You lost. You didn't liberate me! You never will. _Sometimes she wondered if she were really talking to Victor Zsasz, or to herself.

When she walked among the tall buildings, she couldn't help but think of the way she used to run through the streets, hoping he wasn't chasing her, knowing he would find her again. Now it seemed she could never truly escape him, not with her career, a sick monument of sorts to their legacy. Sometimes she swore she heard his voice on the wind, calling her name. But of course there was no one there. Was he watching her now? From the other side?

_Her own fingers, trailing along tallies of scars drawn on warm skin— _No—Never again…

She looked up at the beautiful holiday lights, but the sadness prevailed. And she hated herself for it. Would he be here to see it, if he had lived? _Maybe I could have reformed him… God… Did he really have to die?_ She scoffed. _I shouldn't feel pity for him! Think of how many people he would have killed in the last three years, if he were still alive…_

_Would he have walked these streets someday, appreciating every breath of fresh air that swam into his lungs?_ –Why, why did the guilt always persist, when logically she knew it was for the better?- _Would he have strolled along, without seeing a single person as a zombie who needed to die?_ His 'salvation', he called it. If she hadn't done what she did, he would still be "saving" people, giving them the gift they never wanted. _I gave them a gift by killing him! If that monster had lived-!_

If he lived, would he ever have made amends to all the families he hurt? To the hundreds of victims? Her thoughts swirled chaotically. She breathed deeply. He always brought this chaos with him.

_-With a jolt, it seemed she was upside down again, the cold salty breeze on her face, hearing screams. Seeing his cold eyes fade into nothingness…-_

Danielle closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'll be there soon," she whispered to the listening breeze. "I'll come visit soon." _Like I do every month on the 2nd day. I'll stand again above the cold waters of the Sprang River, and I'll remember._ "I won't forget what you taught me… even if you are a bastard, Victor Zsasz."

The few months he had been around had changed her – for good. She was stronger now, much more alert – also more jaded and guarded in many ways. Scarred. But he had taught her to value life more than she ever thought possible, and she would always be thankful for that. _If he had lived, could I have taught him the same?_

Oh well. She had killed him. She would never know the answers to those questions.


	3. Chapter 2: Threats

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman.

Thank you 4SeasonsChick for faving! :D

**Redemption, Retribution, &amp; Restitution**

**-Chapter Two: THREAT-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

Another beautiful foggy day in Gotham City. There had been sleeting rain in the wee hours of the morning, and slush rode up on her boots as she entered the hospital. She sighed at how warm it was inside on the main floor, vowing to enjoy it fleetingly. The basement was always freezing… possibly because the morgue was on that floor as well.

Wednesday, her busiest day of the week. Monday through Thursday were her class days, and on Wednesday and Saturday nights she trained at Kairi Tanaga's dojo across town. Today she would be both the teacher and the student, and the combination never ceased to intrigue her.

She could say she lived an ordinary life, at long last – the very thing Zsasz had abhorred. But there one variable each and every day at work that changed: she never knew who was going to walk through her door. Her classes were drop-ins; some students had referrals, especially if they had been seen here at the hospital, but many people came on their own volition. She had kept a good number of students, many who would stay months learning from her before moving on – but she never knew what new faces she would see, what new horror stories she would hear, and what new wounds she would help heal.

Long ago, she had assumed that she would be working with victims of supercriminals, like herself. With Gotham's reputation, this was a fair guess. But it had been the opposite. For the most part, her students were victims of small time criminals, crimes of opportunity, even domestic violence. Why weren't the victims of the supercriminals coming to her class? Could it be that, with Joker's absence from Gotham, there weren't as many successful big players anymore? Or could it be, she thought with a shiver, that they were _too_ successful? That, in fact, there weren't many survivors of supercriminals, because _they didn't leave survivors_.

She was lucky. She was also very _rare_.

The thought made her feel colder than the weather outside.

As she shuffled through the lobby, she caught sight of her friend, the receptionist Mrs. Phillips, and strode up to her desk.

"You look cozy!" she said cheerfully. The official hospital secretary and receptionist Mrs. Phillips was bundled up warmer than a kid on snow day, a thick wool sweater beneath her cardigan and a shawl draped over her shoulders. Her eyes were sharp as she peered up at Danielle through her golden cat spectacles.

She owed everything to Mrs. Phillips. She had been the one to encourage Bruce Wayne to reopen the self-defense program, after it had been shut down for years. Mrs. Phillips had been close friends with the original director of Patient Outreach Programs, and when the lady had been untimely murdered, all the programs had closed. It had been Mrs. Phillips' dream, more than anyone else's, to see the programs reinstated, and she had told Mr. Wayne to approach Danielle about getting involved. So far only the self-defense program was back, but given enough time, maybe the other programs would come back too someday.

Mrs. Phillips was of another generation, a much politer one. She wore thin-rimmed cat glasses balanced on her nose, with a golden chain around her neck, and spoke with a manner that was both .

"Are you here to tell me the latest hospital gossip?" the old lady secretary asked, looking up from primly smoothing her paperwork.

"No, I leave that to Cindy," Danielle grinned, leaning against the information desk.

"I saw her flitting through here earlier, all abuzz with coffee. She offered me some, but I declined."

"You should have said yes! It is so cold outside!"

"Yes, well, I bought a new portable heater recently, and my feet are nice and toasty in here."

"Speaking of cold weather… what are you doing next Thursday for Thanksgiving? Do you have any plans?"

"I hadn't anything particular in mind. Occasionally a few old birds and I get together, fellow war widows you know, but we haven't organized it yet."

"I was wondering if you might want to do something," Danielle fiddled with her purse strap. "You know, we could have a dinner together or something."

"Wouldn't you rather go to Cindy's family's house for dinner? You do every year, if I recall?"

"Well this year is Dante's first dinner with them, I didn't want to intrude. Then again, Cindy did say to bring someone of my own… you could be my plus one?" she grinned.

"I believe Cindy meant someone your own age, and someone you might want to potentially date."

"Yeah, well, we both know how likely _that_ is right now. Well, think about it. You know Cindy's always got extra room at her table." She smiled. "No one should have to be alone on Thanksgiving."

Mrs. Phillips' eyes crinkled subtly. The not-quite smile struck Danielle with a fierce wave of nostalgia. For a moment, the old woman reminded her of her grandmother.

"I will consider it, my dear. Now you'd better go turn on the heat in your office, before you become a popsicle!"

"Will do!" She gave Mrs. Phillips a wide smile before hurrying to the office.

_Maybe next year I could host Thanksgiving,_ she thought. _Little brother might have moved to Gotham by then…_ "Little brother" was 25 years old, not so little anymore. _With him, me, and Mrs. Phillips, it would be like having our family again. Or maybe I'll go home and see my parents._ It had been a long time. Too long.

She heard a muffled ringing. "Oh no!" Her keys scrambled in the lock and she burst into the tiny office, snatching up the receiver as it was on its last ring. "Phew…"

"Miss Lee? You sound out of breath."

"Not at all!" She straightened up, immediately recognizing the deep voice. "What is it?"

"A matter has come up concerning one of your students, Scott Jones. I need you to get some information from him, then meet me tomorrow night."

"I'll see what I can do…"

She stretched as she hung up the phone a minute later. The room was still cold and it made her body ache tiredly. Her fingers spun the dial on the wall near the large vent, but the metal groaned in protest. She frowned. _No heat_.

Sometimes the old hospital had trouble in the pipes and vents. She sighed. Time to call the maintenance man to fix it. That meant there wouldn't be any heat in the studio next door either, since the ventilation system serviced both rooms. "Brrr…"

Today was a special day: Obstacle Day. Every so often, Danielle decided to transform the studio into a more realistic training space. Empty trashcans, jump ropes, papers, and chairs lay strewn all over the mats. When her students came in to practice today, they would have to be mindful of environmental obstacles in addition to defending themselves. After all, the real world wasn't built on soft training mats.

She had been watching the Wednesday students carefully. With only a few new faces, the group had been pretty consistent over the past month. The newest face was, in fact, Scott Jones, who had been coming to her classes for just over a week. Interestingly, he had been coming to _all_ of her classes, Monday through Thursday. It was almost as if he wanted to learn these skills more urgently than the average student.

_He was still in danger._

Of course. That was why she had gotten the phone call earlier. That was why she needed to watch him more carefully today in class and then get information from him.

In the blink of an eye, it was 4PM already. Her students trickled into the classroom, including her target student. Scott looked tired today. There was an uneven stubble on his lower jaw, and dark bags ringed his eyes like bruises, contrasting with his milky white skin. The marks on his body were turning green, healing. His posture was slouched, his bad shoulder still hunched in on itself. He looked at her as he came in, acknowledging her, but seemed to immediately look away after. He had been able to look at her longer the day before.

That was a sign. Most students would slowly begin to display signs of improvement… if they hadn't been retraumatized. Scott was looking worse. _He is still being attacked._ She remembered what he had said yesterday, when she had asked what her students' fears were: "I don't want to talk about my greatest fear." He was still holding back, afraid to name his attackers. If he didn't talk about it, he could be killed, or spend months experiencing repeated attacks, suffering alone without any support.

Just like she had.

She felt a fire in her chest. _Not if I can help it._

The rest of her class shuffled in, bewildered faces taking in the sight of the cluttered mats. Danielle smiled. _We're going to have some fun today!_

"Alright everyone! Pair up, do your stretches, and then we'll go over the activity for today, as I'm sure you've all noticed the altered state of the room." The class chuckled.

Scott was not the only student there from yesterday. Theodore was there too. Theodore pushed his glasses up on his nose before approaching Scott, and Scott nodded to him as they partnered up. She saw Theodore's eyes do a quick appraisal of his partner's injuries, the bruises that lingered and the bad shoulder, and smiled to herself. For all his shyness, Theodore noticed a lot and read people very quickly. She hoped he could help set Scott at ease before she questioned him tonight.

"One of the key lessons of self-defense is to be aware of your surroundings." She watched as her students gazed apprehensively at the debris all over the room. "You need to be aware of who is around you, aware of what's happening – and you need to be aware of the environment itself. If someone attacks you and you fall, there won't be a soft training mat waiting for you. There might be a concrete sidewalk, a flight of stairs, a curb to trip over. Any number of obstacles that could work against you. You need to be aware of them. I want today's focus to be free-form fighting; use as many of your skills as you possibly can. If you fall, adjust – don't stop the practice, incorporate it into it! One partner will attack, and the other one will do whatever it takes to defend him or herself from that attack, until he or she can get away safely. Does that make sense?" The class nodded. "Alright, let's get to it!"

The pairs quickly decided which partner would be an attacker, and the energy in the room changed. It was the grating, heavy energy of competing interests, the tension between would-be victims and predators – the rhythm of the assault. Each moment dribbling by, measured in pounding heartbeats, deciding who would win. Make one little mistake, and the opponent gains an advantage; how far they take that advantage depends on how many openings either party exploits. One little mistake, and it's game over for either person, in a mere instant. She knew that many of the people in this classroom knew this first-hand.

She knew that both sides were trying to end their fight as soon as possible.

_Zsasz was cunning, Zsasz was fast. She didn't know what she was doing… Only that the blade, the crazed gleam in his eyes, scared her. She didn't let herself slow down. Put distance between us, use a long stick or a baseball bat – strike then. Strike while he cannot stab. _Adrenaline pounded in her ears. _ He's blocking the door! I have to escape!_

"Please, sir…"

She snapped her head around, and the classroom came back. Theodore was lying on the floor, staring up at his "attacker" with raised hands. He had tripped over an overturned trashcan during the scuffle and was now at his opponent's mercy. The "attacker" – Scott – had paused. Theodore spoke quickly.

"Do you want money? You can have my money. See?" He held up his wallet. "Is this what you were looking for? It's no problem." He tossed the wallet to Scott's left. As Scott's eyes darted to the wallet, Theodore scooted backward and stood up quickly before turning and running.

Danielle was very impressed.

"Good job, Theodore! You got away safely," she beamed.

Theodore shrugged shyly. "Yeah, but it's not something you can do everyday." He approached with his head lowered and accepted his wallet back from Scott. "If they always bully you and you always give up your money, you start to feel like a loser after a while. You start thinking, why can't I stand up for myself? Plus then you're broke."

"In the grand scheme of things, a stolen wallet doesn't matter," Danielle said firmly. "I know we're training here in class on how to do physical defense, so it might be hard to yield your possessions when you have learned these skills... It might feel like a defeat. It's not. If compliance gets you out of a situation alive… if they're threatening you, making you choose between handing over your wallet or getting hurt further… why not give them what they want?"

"But what if they want you dead?" Scott suddenly spoke. Danielle and Theodore looked startled. The young man shook his head darkly and resumed staring down at the mat. He didn't speak another word.

* * *

5:30PM. Her students were exhausted and beaming. She couldn't have been prouder.

"I hope you all got in a good workout today!" she called. Her students laughed. "You all did excellent! Have a safe evening, and remember – always be mindful of your surroundings! See you next class!"

She saw a mop of brown hair heading for the door.

"Oh, Scott!" she called. The student stopped and turned hesitantly. "Can you help me put away some of the supplies? I could use an extra hand…" Ignoring Theodore's confused look – he surely would have volunteered if she had asked – she focused on Scott and was relieved when he nodded yes and came over to her. She handed him the supplies basket and he set to work picking up the kneepads, while she picked up the trash and righted the trashcans. His shoulder was tense, bunched and pulled against his body. She had to be careful, set him at ease.

"How are you doing with this class so far?" she asked as non-threateningly as possible.

There was a long pause. "It's good so far," he said, his voice a little raspy.

"Is it upsetting your injuries at all?" she continued. "You can let me know if we need to move slower—"

"They're healing fine," he reassured her. She nodded.

"If you don't mind my saying so—" she stopped. Scott turned to look at her. His fine brown hair was trembling on his brow line, and he had a guarded, almost hard look in his eyes. She exhaled slowly.

"You're safe here. I don't know your story and what happened, but I know that you're not alone, no matter how scary it was. I've seen hundreds of people come in here, and one thing we have in common is that we know what it's like. We all know what it's like to be assaulted and have our sense of safety robbed from us. I'm here to make sure it doesn't happen again – to any of you. You can ask me _anything,_ Scott, anything if you think it would help you. You are safe here. Alright?"

He nodded but didn't volunteer anything.

"Can I tell you a story?"

He nodded again.

"There was…a time… when I was walking home from work one day. It was three years ago – four years in March. It was just an ordinary day, nothing special. I passed by this park not far away from here… and that's when it happened."

"What happened?" Scott asked. Danielle realized suddenly that she had been silent, reliving the memories in her head.

"I saw a man standing in front of a bench, not thirty feet from me. There were these two people – a couple – they were dead. They couldn't have been older than I was at the time, and yet— I realized they were dead when he moved them, when their heads fell back…" She felt, rather than saw, her student shiver violently. When she looked over at him, his pupils were dilated and his skin was paler than usual. She pressed on, "He saw me, of course, the killer did. Said I was next. I ran. I was scared. I lost him and thought it was the end of it, but…" She shook her head.

"But what?" Scott's voice was filled with dread.

"He found me again. He wouldn't stop attacking me," she whispered. "No matter what I did… There was nothing I could have given him that would have satisfied him, until I was dead." _Except for near the end, but… he doesn't need to know about that. No one does._ She pushed away the rush of confusion that came with the thought and stared her student in the eye.

"What you said today in class – 'what if they want you dead?' – that's exactly what I went through, and it's a scary place to be. It was my worst nightmare." As expected, he was looking at the scars over her nose and forehead and neck, understanding on his face. "I would hope, that if you went through something similar, you would have someone to talk to about it."

Scott's eyes snapped to hers, and he seemed to be in a trance. She wondered, the moment teetering on the edge of a knife, if she had been too bold with her unspoken question. Would he bolt?

His eyes narrowed, and suddenly he was looking right through her, as if he were somewhere else. "I have a nightmare just like that," he said darkly.

"You do."

He swallowed thickly. "You wanna know what my greatest fear is?"

"What is it, Scott?"

"It's that when I leave here tonight, they'll be waiting for me, maybe at the bus stop – or maybe they've found out where I live and they'll be waiting for me when I get home… to kill me."

"A group of them did this to you?" She felt a pang staring at the black, blue, and green of his bruises.

"They want information," he blurted out. "I'm afraid they're going to kill me once I give them what they want."

A cold shiver went up her spine. "So they've been targeting you, specifically, for some time now?"

Scott nodded.

"Who are they? What information do they want from you?"

His eyes found the floor again. "I-I-"

"C'mon, Scott…"

"They said if I tell the police, they'll kill me!" he said. Danielle flinched. _"My friend, Matthew Summers… He said if I tell the police, he'll kill him!" _She had been just like him before… and it had cost her so much.

She watched him struggle with himself for a few minutes, her heart breaking more and more. "It's OK, Scott… Scott… It's… it's OK if you can't talk about it right now… Hey, look at me."

Her student had tears in his eyes.

"Look, if anything happens, call my office number. Do you have it? Here it is again. I check it at night too before I go to sleep. If you need anything, even just to talk, call me, OK?"

Scott took the number and put it in his wallet carefully.

"Look, we've got to find a way to keep you safe. Can you take a taxi home from the front of the hospital, so you're not out on the streets? Or better yet, can you call a friend and stay with them tonight? If you're scared about going home, you should stay with a friend instead. Can you do that tonight? And then come to class tomorrow? Is there anything I can do for you, right now?"

Scott shook his head, his face getting paler. "I'll be OK, Miss Danielle."

She could only watch in dismay as her student hastily left, shaking like a leaf.

She hoped he would be back.

* * *

Steam and lavender filled the small bathroom. All the aches from Kairi's class were coming out, and more than a few bruises too. Kairi Tanaga-sensei had gone hard on them today. She stripped off her shirt and pants, smiling. Nothing like a workout followed by a hot, relaxing bath on a cold night.

She glanced at the small window, out into the darkness. _Hope Scott got home safely._

She rifled through her pants pocket and then glanced at her thick jacket. _Yeah, I could stand to wash that too__…_ She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, and her fingers brushed paper. That's right - there was that note from yesterday, and she had forgotten to read it. Cindy was going to hound her about it tomorrow over coffee! Sighing she sat down on the toilet and held up the paper._  
_

Hopefully it was just some professional note. Anything but a love note. The thought of giving herself romantically to anyone ever again—she could feel her stomach tighten and acid rise in her throat. She couldn't. Not now. Possibly not ever.

The inside message was written in beautiful calligraphy. Heart sinking, she began to read:

* * *

**_Silly teacher came to teach,_**

**_Little students came to learn._**

**_Every week a skill they reach;_**

**_Every week a new one burns!_**

**_Pretty teacher wants to help:_**

**_You ought to quit while you're ahead._**

**_Hold off on your noble cause_**

**_Or I shall paint your classroom red!_**

**_Little teacher, causing trouble,_**

**_Listen, and choose a diff'rent path,_**

**_Or harm befall the ones you lead –_**

**_Wait and see and face my wrath!_**

* * *

Her stomach turned to ice. The piece of paper slipped softly from her hand.

"That's not a love note…"

**_-/-/-/-/-_**


	4. Chapter 3: Return

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Batman. Promise.**  
**

**Redemption, Retribution, &amp; Restitution**

**-Chapter Three: RETURN-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

_Cinnamon and sugar exploded in her mouth. _

_Cindy held the largest pastry she had ever seen, so close that it dabbed her nose. Cindy's face was already smeared with white frosting._

_"C'mon, Cindy, I want a bite!" With a childish giggle, Danielle did just that, and the two friends devoured the sweet._

_Danielle smiled at her best friend. Cindy's hair looked cute today, in four pigtails with pink ties. What could possibly be better than best friends and sweets?_

_"Do you want another—Cindy?" Danielle looked up. She hadn't felt her friend go. And yet she was all alone, with only the cold breeze winding through the darkening alley to keep her company._

_She shivered. Like the sugar that had been on her fingers, the bright streaks of sunlight had faded away and died. Now an orange streetlight shone in the crack between the buildings. Where was Cindy? Slowly she crept out of the cold alley._

_Where was she? The street was empty in either direction, pavement stretching into darkness, with only a small circle of a streetlamp to see by. She was fearful to venture. This looked like her street, but—_

_Suddenly, the streetlight went out._

_Cold, ethereal blue light shone down from the full moon overhead. A pure, lonely white globe above a dark planet. The rustling of wings—_

_**CAW CAW CAW CAW!** A scream against the night. A raven overhead. A feather falling, brushing her face._

**_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._**

_Footsteps. She looked around. _

_A long shadow illuminated against a building. A silhouette that filled her with dread. Was it Zsasz? Somehow she just knew…_

_The shadow was gone. And she was lost in the darkness._

_But not alone. Soft chanting drifted in the air, filled with hidden meaning:_

**_"Dominus illuminatio mea, et salus mea, quem timebo?  
_****_Dominus protector vitae mea, a quo trepidabo?"_**

_Then she saw them._

_A line of white saints wearing robes and hoods, walking by in single file, singing a psalm. Ten voices singing a message of hope into the night. Where were they going? She scarcely breathed as she followed._

_It seemed they walked forever, and the line stopped. The first saint reached into the white robes and procured a key of light. A doorway opened, but Danielle couldn't see the lock. One by one, the saints marched into the other world, the light vanished, and she was again left in darkness._

_Tentatively, she went forward, searching the air for the mystery doorway. Ahh, here it was. She could see the outline, faintly shining in the otherwise still night air._

_Did it lead to a spirit world? Dare she open it?_

_For a moment, she thought she ought to go find Cindy and enjoy the cinnamon pastries instead. A knot formed in her stomach._

_She touched the doorknob._

_The door opened. She stepped inside, her footsteps loud in the silence. She blinked as her eyes adjusted._

_"What am I doing here?"_

_It was her self-defense studio she had entered._

_There were no saints inside. The classroom was empty. She tilted her head._

**_Drip drip drip drip. _**_What was that? She walked closer to the walls, tracing their smoothness, and pulled back the curtains of the window._

_Looked like the eye of a storm outside. The sky was grey and wet, spinning in a wild vortex, with an ethereal light just beyond the clouds. Drops began to hit the window, and she hurriedly pulled the curtains over it to keep out the chill._

**_Cree-ak… cree-ak…_**

_She spun around._

_It felt as though the room was fidgeting. The walls and windows were humming. It must really be a fierce storm outside..._

_The squeaking noise continued._

_With a sinking feeling, she realized it was coming from the floor. When she looked down, she gasped._

_Footprints were forming on the training mats. Footprints made by translucent feet._

_A cloaked figure glided across the room, one of the saints, but not with the sparkling white light she had witnessed earlier. The temperature in the room seemed to drop as the spectre approached. She remained frozen and terrified as it stopped in front of her, footprints remaining in the mats. Skeletal fingers touched her chin and the ghost lifted her head with a flourish. She didn't want to look, but she did._

_Theodore's white eye sockets stared down at her. She screamed._

_More ghosts appeared in the room, wearing cloaks, yet they could no longer conceal their faces. She recognized them one by one. It was her class. She backed away in horror. It seemed the__ chant she heard before suddenly returned, louder._

**_Dominus illuminatio mea, et salus mea, quem timebo?  
_****_Dominus protector vitae mea, a quo trepidabo?_**

_Drip drip drip_

_Why was it raining indoors? And what was that smell?_

**_Drip drip drip_**

_With horror she saw that the walls were running red with blood. She gagged on the overpowering stench. __One by one her students remove their hoods. Blank eye sockets stare at her. Matted hair-_

_Her students were covered in blood. It was their blood covering the classroom walls! Someone had massacred them! They were all dead!_

_**Thump thump thump thump thump!** Her heart was beating out of her chest._

_What had happened? She tried to scream, but no sound escaped her throat. Who had turned her students into ghosts?_

_The door opened, and a dark figure entered. She already knew who it was._

_Zsasz walked calmly into the center of the room, and one by one the students knelt before him. Danielle screamed at them, begging them to stand up and run as far and as fast as they could, but her voice made no sound. The room was deadly silent except for Zsasz's slow, deliberate footsteps._

_Zsasz's cold eyes stared down at her precious students. They bowed their heads._

_Danielle watched in horror._

_One by one, the students' heads burst into fire. They exploded, human effluence everywhere. Ten human sacrifices, burning like torches in the center of her once-sacred training sanctuary._

_"NOOOOOO!" Danielle screamed._

_The room erupted in flames._

_Danielle screamed until she was hoarse, her lungs choking and wheezing. Her students burned into charcoal on the ground, smoke filled the room, and she was alone - just her and the psycho._

_A hand reached through the flames and grabs her neck. Zsasz's mouth was open, a black gaping maw. He lurched forward, a zombie now, his eyes a sickly yellow-green, and he reached for her face with nails that were too long—_

"No!" Danielle awoke trembling and sobbing and scrambled to turn on the light. She saw her bed, her dresser, her _room_, and let out a deep sigh. She was safe.

But that dream… She thought darkly of what she had seen. It was that note. It had all been in there. There was no way in hell she was going back to sleep tonight.

* * *

She winced going down the hallway to the office the next morning. On only four hours of sleep, the white walls were getting to her. She gritted her teeth as she prepared to enter her office.

"Hey girl!"

She spun around. "Cindy!" She breathed deeply.

"Did you forget about our tea date, or are you that eager to get started on work?" Cindy frowned. "Hey Dani… You don't look so good. What happened?"

"I- uh-"

Cindy grabbed her arm. "C'mon, tell me over a nice hot cup of something!" She yanked her reluctant best friend down the hall, into the elevator, and over to the small on-campus cafe. As soon as they sat down, hot drinks in hand, Cindy leaned forward, her expression concerned. Danielle immediately felt safer. During the months they had lived together, Cindy had held Danielle through the screaming nightmares, the tears and the sleeplessness, Victor Zsasz's final and lasting legacy to her. Of all people, Cindy would understand.

"You were in my dream last night."

Cindy raised an eyebrow, and Danielle couldn't help but imagine her with cinnamon frosting all over her face. "Was it a good dream? Was I an action hero kicking ass?"

"I wish! It was more like a nightmare… We were eating a pastry, and then suddenly I was in an alley by myself. Then somehow I wound up in my classroom and..." She couldn't continue. Images flashed before her eyes, and she shuddered. The dream had felt so _real. _"You know that note I told you about yesterday?"

Cindy didn't like her friend's tone. "Yeah?"

"It—it was a threat."

"What?! From who?"

"I have no idea. It's written like a poem…" She took a shaky breath. "They want me to stop teaching self-defense."

"They what?"

"They threatened to 'paint my classroom red' if I didn't end the class. They said they'll target my students."

Cindy scowled. "Why, because people are fighting back? So this person's some sort of criminal who thinks your class is bad for business or something?"

"You know…" Danielle grinned unexpectedly, though it was slightly manic. "I didn't even think about it that way! That must mean we're doing something right, if the wrong kind of people are threatening me!"

"Whoa girl! You don't want to be attracting that kind of energy…"

"I know—God, I know."

"Have you reported it to the police?"

"Yes. I called them last night. An officer is meeting me in the office today."

"Really? Shoot, I should let you go, you don't want to miss them! Make sure they catch that psycho!"

"I thought you should know about it, just in case," Danielle admitted. "I made a mistake last time, when I didn't tell you about Zsasz. I could have put all of you in danger. I _did_ put Matthew in danger—"

"And you still stuck your neck out for him, the ungrateful douche," Cindy muttered.

"—So be mindful of your surroundings, just in case. Hopefully it's just some crackpot trying to scare me."

"Dani," Cindy shook her head, "you've got more than enough to worry about. You don't have to worry about me too." She stood up slowly and stretched. "I gotta get back before Ms. Davis gets in. And you've gotta get back too. But call me—" she ordered her friend, a serious look on her face, "After you talk to the police. Or just come down the hall to let me know how it went. Call me when you get home tonight too, I want to know you got in safe. Call me anytime, even if it's in the middle of the night. I'm always here for you."

Danielle smiled softly. "I know. You're the best friend I could ever hope for… But maybe I won't call you in the middle of the night." She grinned. "I don't want to interrupt whatever you and Dante might be doing!"

"See, this is why we need to get you and Julien together! You should invite him for Friday night! Or Thanksgiving!" Cindy stuck her tongue out sassily.

"I was thinking… could I bring Mrs. Phillips instead? I'm not sure if she has anything to do this year, and I'm trying to convince her…"

"Of course! Let her know we'll have lots of wine!" Cindy winked. "See you Friday night. And call me!" She smiled reassuringly as she left the café.

Danielle sat for another moment, readying herself. _I learned my lesson last time. No more taking on the world by myself._

Resolutely she went back into the main lobby, waving hello to Mrs. Phillips, and then took the elevator downstairs, forcing herself to smile. The walk down the hallway seemed longer than she remembered. The walls were so white, and couldn't help but imagine them soaked red-

"Danielle Lee?"

She looked up in relief. Detective Harvey Bullock stood in front of her office door, gnawing on a toothpick. She had never been so happy to see the oafish cop. Now she wouldn't have to go into her studio alone, in light of the horrific nightmares.

"I'm here to see the note and take your statement, miss."

With a genuine smile, Danielle approached the gruff detective.

* * *

"Thank you for coming out on this cold Thursday night!"

Her students had only just arrived, still bundled up in their autumn gear, and _so thankfully alive_. Danielle didn't want to send them away. Having them here, safe with her… she never wanted to let them go. But the conversation from Detective Bullock was fresh in her mind, and she knew what she had to do.

She silently swallowed her apprehension behind a façade of confidence. "I have an announcement to make, everyone. Two nights ago, I received a threatening letter here at the hospital." There were gasps. "In the letter, there were demands made that we shut down this self-defense class, and the writer promises to harm either myself or my students if we do not comply. Now please don't be alarmed." She appraised her students; several of them looked terrified. Understandably so. "We are working with the police to resolve this issue and they are trying to figure out who wrote the note, so they can catch him or her. The police have said to cancel classes for tonight while they examine the evidence. We want to keep you guys safe."

Her students were looked toward one another and back to her. Her heart ached for their confusion. The last thing they needed was to be revictimized… and this situation was threatening to do exactly that, mentally at the very least.

"I know I don't usually see you guys until next Tuesday. The police say you may assume that unless otherwise notified, it should be safe to resume classes next week. They have confidence that they can catch this person before then. But I am obligated to let you know, in case you would like to quit this class for your personal or emotional safety." She met all their eyes, silently telling them that whatever they decided, she would support them.

Jillian walked out first. She had a feeling the young girl would, and she felt a pang in her stomach. The sadness deepened when Mary gave her an apologetic smile and followed Jillian. Finally, Greta sighed before walking by the entire class. "Sorry," she rasped. "I have kids to think about." The door clicked closed behind her. The remaining students kept their attention on her; she saw the resolution in their eyes.

"If any of you change your mind between this class and the next - it won't be held against you! And for you who stay, we will do our absolute best to keep you safe! Keep practicing, you can never practice self-defense too much. Stay safe tonight, everyone, and remember – always remain aware of your surroundings!"

The class began to disperse. "Miss Danielle?"

To her surprise, Scott was standing next to her, looking more apprehensive than usual. "Yes, Scott?"

He swallowed. "There's something important I have to tell you."

She waited until the other students had left and then closed the doors to her studio. "What is it?"

"I know who wrote that note!"

"Wait- what?" Danielle's heart thundered.

"It was the people who attacked me! It must be! They made a phone call to my office yesterday. They threatened me."

"What do they want from you?"

"They want more information. They want to meet me. I've been resisting them..."

"When do they want to meet?"

"They didn't say. They said they'll be in touch." He shivered. "I think they've been watching me. I think they know where I live now. I'm staying with friends, but it won't be long… I know they'll find me there too. What if they already found out I take these classes? They might be the ones who sent you the note!"

Something in her student's tone made her senses tingle. "Have they been escalating?"

He nodded. "I think I've outlived my usefulness. I'm… I'm a chemist. They've been getting information from me about my work."

"Scott, that spot where they attacked you… Where was it?"

His face paled. "Near the shipyards."

"Can you tell me their names, what they look like?"

"But-but what if they find out I told you-"

"Everything that's said in this room stays in this room. You can tell me the situation, and I can figure out a way to help you."

"But-" His eyes swept the room frantically.

"They won't find out," she put a hand on his shoulder. "I understand. You're scared. Tell me if there's any way I can help you, anything at all, that will give you an advantage and keep you even a second safer. I'll do everything I can to protect you, Scott." _And possibly this entire class._

He swallowed. "There's more. You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"No. I won't tell anyone. Anything that's said in this room stays in this room. Now what else is going on?"

* * *

The evening mist cooled her flaming face. So it wasn't just a bullying gang. An _organized crime group_ was targeting her student. She couldn't even begin to imagine his fear…

_Those monsters are going to pay!_ she thought darkly.

As she stalked down the streets, she passed one particularly dark alley and glared mistrustfully into the shadows. Only then did she notice the pastry shop on the corner for the first time. Her mouth fell open.

_Above her!_

She spun. The fluttering of wings overhead… _No… __Not a raven after all…_

"You wouldn't happen to be stalking me, now would you?" she called.

"Very funny," Batman intoned as he landed on the pavement and strode toward her. She had the distinctive feeling that he had deliberately let her hear his approach.

The streetlights gleamed off his cowl, the leather and metal of his gauntlets, creating a mask of strength and fear. Danielle smiled. In spite of how intimidating he was, even to her, she always felt so safe whenever he was there.

"What have you found out about Mr. Jones?"

She straightened up immediately. "He was attacked by members of an organized crime group, out by the docks last week. They're planning to assault him again. They want trade-related information from him."

Batman's eyes narrowed. "What kind of information?"

"He's been working with a special element called red phosphorus. Scott's a chemist for a private company – Zucchini Chemicals or something."

_Zubin Zucchini. I know him. Last I heard he was working in sulfur._ "Go on."

"They called him today at work to set up another meeting but they haven't specified the date or place yet." _He wanted me to show him how to defend against a knife attack. Heck, he wanted to know about my scars!_ Her hand rose to the diamond scar on the back of her neck. _Those monsters must have cut him up too, in a place that isn't visible, or else threatened to._ "They looked part Italian, he said, and were dressed in plainclothes, a couple of them were wearing suits. One of them was wearing a lot of rings, but he couldn't remember what the insignias on them were…"

"Sounds like a crime boss," Batman mused. His mind worked quickly; the Falcones were making moves to come back into the shipyards. They had a long history of bribing or stealing from certain companies, as well as manufacturing and selling illegal drugs. It was probably them. "Is Mr. Jones safe now?"

"He's staying with some friends, starting tonight for as long as he needs to, but he thinks they might try to come after him again. His friends have been driving him to and from work and making sure he doesn't go anywhere alone."

"Thank you Miss Lee, you've been very helpful. One more thing."

"Yes?"

"I got a message from Commissioner Gordon." He held out his hand. "Something about a note?"

She stiffened. In Batman's black gauntleted hand lay the evil note. It was inside an evidence bag, the same one Detective Bullock had put it in when he left her office earlier today. Something about the sight of that little note sitting there made her apprehensive, as if somehow its very presence endangered her - even though it was just paper and ink. Her name stared up mockingly at her, all cursive and swirls.

"Yes," she murmured. "That's the one." Batman put the note back into one of the pouches on his utility belt, and she felt a great weight dropping off her. Batman was here. Suddenly, she felt like everything was going to be OK.

"I read it earlier. Charming nursery rhyme," Batman muttered. "Any idea who could have sent this? Have you made any enemies?"

"I have no idea," she answered honestly. "I gave my statement to the police yesterday, they said they'll try to track whoever it is down… You don't think it's from the same people who are targeting Scott, do you?"

Batman noticed that her posture had changed slightly, a difference from the assertive young woman Danielle had become over the last three years. This note must be really upsetting her, not that he blamed her. Someone was threatening the cause that he and Danielle had built: the self-defense classes. _Someone_ was not happy… and while he had a small list of suspects, he needed more clues.

"Commissioner Gordon said they're reviewing the security footage in the hospital to see if they can spot the note writer. If they can't - _I'll_ figure it out who's behind this."

She nodded. "Thank you, Batman—" When she looked up, he was gone.

No, not totally – there he was, sailing up through the frosty air, slipping away into the night. She raised a hand in thanks and saw him wave back.

She couldn't help but think that he must have a heart of gold to do what he did, risking his life to save Gotham every single night of every year. He had certainly saved her. He had been the source of her inspiration when she was at Zsasz's mercy, at the darkest moment of her life. And this was why she vowed to be as helpful to the Dark Knight as possible. One person should not bear the weight of the world alone.

_Hopefully he's not alone. He has Robin, right? And Batgirl. And… _Even though she hadn't seen Catwoman again, not since that night on the Sprang Bridge, she held out hope that somehow the femme fatale and the Caped Crusader had found solace in each other. _That would be rather…romantic. _A giddy smile graced her face.

* * *

The boat slid slowly into the mooring position at the docks of Amusement Mile. All hands stood at the ready to unload the cargo – all hands but four.

Footsteps echoed on the upper deck, where no one else could hear. Warm blood dripped slowly from still fingers. Four dead sailors sat in a room, reading nautical maps. A man walked out of the room- _The room was always so hot after a kill_\- blood from his boots smearing the hardwood floor. More blood, more crimson liquid, dripped from the knife. His hands shook, and the knife dropped with a loud clatter.

He walked slowly and barely evenly. A faint buzzing jostled his ears. He couldn't tell if the sound came from his own racing thoughts or from the hum of the ship's engines.

The man gazed blankly out at the cityscape, no emotion on his face. And yet he knew that he had come to the right place. There was something…here, waiting for him.

The man pulled the jacket around himself tighter. He noted that the air was cold, almost winter. He hoped he has not been followed. He knew that no matter where he went, he could be tracked. He had the sense that he wasn't safe anymore and that he was more vulnerable than he ever was before. But he knew this city was familiar. Safety lay here somewhere.

The planks had been lowered. It was just a matter of slipping away when no one was looking. When everyone was distracted.

He didn't have long to wait. One of the workmen dropped a box, and the commotion drew everyone around him. Meanwhile the man disembarked and as his bloodstained leather boots touched land, specifically cobblestone, cold blue eyes peered up through the heavy hood of the coat to glare out at the scenery. In his thoughts, he heard a dark chuckle.

_Hello Gotham – I'm back!_

**_-/-/-/-/-_**


	5. Chapter 4: A Flash of Black

**A/N: **There might be some random references to other Batman media aside from the Batman: Arkham series scattered in my story. Some stuff from B:TAS, Batman Beyond, the Nolanverse, etc. Zubin Zucchini is from the old Adam West "Batman" series in '66. Just in case any details look randomly familiar...

4SeasonsChick and pshycogurl335, thank you so much for the reviews! :) I was wondering, what do you guys think about the chapter lengths? Are they too long, too short, or good as is? Thank you in advance!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Batman. Not even in my dreams.

**Redemption, Retribution, &amp; Restitution**

**-Chapter Four: A FLASH OF BLACK-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

Cobblestone gave way to pavement beneath his boots. The man was very aware of the cold silver moonlight, splashing down from above…and his hands…covered with black _blood._

Why had he done it?

What had those men done to deserve it?

He scratched his arm, not noticing the blood that smeared on his skin. "Why was I on that boat?" Somehow, when he tried to think of it, his mind was fuzzy.

The behemoth lurched beside him in the water, all rust and metal. Yet even its massive vigilance evoked no memories.

"I don't even remember how I got on board…" The man spoke to himself, his voice a frightened rasp. "I was—I don't even remember where I was coming from! I don't—"

To his extreme horror, the man realized he did not even remember his own name.

"Zzzs…"

The man's head whipped around. "Who's there?!" He peered frantically into the gloom.

He had sworn that he had seen a flash of black in his periphery. _Someone was here._

And now the paranoia set in.

_Someone is following me._

He needed to get out of here, but he didn't know where "here" was. Somehow the barren streets looked familiar to him, but he couldn't remember their purpose to him—

_"My purpose is to kill you and save you from the relentless misery of your existence!"_

That high-pitched, deranged voice…those murderous words… They were familiar too. A chill ran down his spine. There was something very wrong going on here, as the four dead sailors on the boat could attest!

_I was standing over them… Their throats were gurgling, and I waited until they stopped… That's when I left them sitting around their maps…_

The freezing wind bit harshly through the jacket. Opening it, incredulously he registered that he wasn't wearing a shirt on underneath. _What kind of nut wanders around half-exposed in this weather?_ The jacket was too small for him, belonging to one of the dead sailors. He felt oddly naked, but that wasn't why. He was missing something.

He looked down at his hand, the blood sticking to his skin.

"My knife…"

_A white hot flash! The knife ripped through flesh like paper, screaming faces, silenced. Not the sailors, but rather a young couple, sitting on a park bench—_

He gasped as the pain in his head receded. The images…they felt so _real._

He had killed people. There was no denying it now. He had done this before. He had done something very, _very, very wrong!_

He dropped to his knees, shivering, feeling the cold of the pavement bite through his cargo pants.

"What is happening to me?" he whimpered through closed eyes.

* * *

It was Friday night. Batman grappled toward Amusement Mile, keeping a sharp eye out. Danielle's tip had yielded some interesting information about Scott Jones's work.

_Zucchini Chemical Company… They've been experimenting with a new compound lately, something related to red phosphorus. From the little we were able to look up, it seems it can be used in meth labs. That sounds like the Falcone family for sure. They might be trying to reestablish themselves after Black Mask seized the market..._

He circled the docks briefly. _No one's here. Where else would they be?_

The office where Mr. Jones worked was not far away from here. He landed in the parking lot. Nothing looked amiss. Spots of oil. A little broken glass, coming from a beer bottle. Cigarette butts… There was a large pile of cigarette butts in one particular place. _Looks like someone was out here for a while… They must be surveying this place! They might have tracked Mr. Jones back to his friends' house tonight when he didn't go home last night! They're all in danger!_

Call it a hunch, but Batman was not one to discount his intuition. He had looked up the information already of where Mr. Jones was staying, based on what Danielle had been able to find out. He summoned the Batwing and flew to the home of the Bixbys as fast as he could, dropping down and landing on a nearby rooftop softly.

The lights were on. No signs of forced entry…yet. Maybe he had beaten them here! A car was approaching now. The plates… _Hmm. I recognize those plates. Benito Sobalvarro… or Bangin' Benny as they call him... one of The Roman's hitmen. They're done collecting information - they've sent Benito here to silence them!_

The car stopped in front of the home. A pudgy man in plainclothes got out. Benito. One other man after him. Two men left in the car. The two hitmen walked up the brick patio to the front stairs. _Time to crash their party._

SWAK! A batarang whirred low through the air toward the back wheel. A soft, unnoticed hiss. _That takes care of the getaway car. I've got to do this quietly. This is a residential neighborhood. No stray bullets._

He fingered the compartments on the utility belt. _Smoke pellets…no… knockout gas!_ A moment later, the men in the car coughed softly and slumped behind the dashboard and wheel, and Batman dropped to the ground from the car's roof.

_They were almost at the door!_

WHOOSH!

The hitmen dropped to the ground, tangled together. "Hey! Get this thing off me!" They struggled as Batman ran forward. Benito managed to get free. WHACK! "Ugh!" Batman stumbled back, and Benito raised the gun with a menacing grin, a killing gleam in his eyes.

SWAK! Benito screamed and dropped the gun, batarang lodged in the handle. He backed away. "Huh! You think you can protect these people, Bats? Not from my boss!" His partner stood up, and Benito used the distraction to scramble past, leaving his partner to face the Batman alone.

"Hey Benny, where're you goin'? Oh God! Please, no-" WHACK!

Benito hid behind the hedge. He peered out around the corner. No sign of the Batman. Dammit, his gun was lying on the patio, out of reach! His friend wasn't making any noises. Forget the job, he'd get those white collars later!

The coast looked clear. The crook began to sneak toward the white picket fence, when a giant black bat hurtled out of the night, knocking him senseless to the ground.

"Gotcha, dirtbag!"

* * *

Hazy eyes opened. Blackness greeted him. _Where am I?_

Had he slept here all night, passed out on the unforgiving pavement, and was it tomorrow? It was still so dark… And now the haze was wearing off. It was so cold…

He could hear water. The salty smell told him he was still by the docks.

"That's right. This…this place is...where I am from." _Gotham._ "I came here- to escape from someone." In spite of the fog he was sure of it. "But…I can't remember where my home is. I don't even remember what neighborhood! I could be miles from home!"

And he couldn't remember _why_ he would want to kill those four sailor men in cold blood.

He held up a hand. Blood still clung to his nails. He licked it off absently as he wandered.

_Where do I go? Do I keep wandering in circles? I'm sure I've seen that one sign for the casino about seven times now… That alley over there…looks familiar. I…did something bad in that alley. Something bad…but fun._

He was dying to know who he was and why he had done what he did. But for right now…

_I still don't remember my own name!_

An ominous laugh sounded in his ears. "Who's there?!" He spun around. No one standing behind him. And yet the laugh echoed in the empty streets.

_...Someone really is following me!..._

Smoke ahead. He jerked to an abrupt stop.

Just outside the shipyard sat another man on a crate, smoking a cigarette and reading a paper in the dim streetlight. In spite of the wanderer's trepidation, the other man did not look up as he continued to read, oblivious. A cloud of white cigarette smoke wafted over, making the lost man cough.

Suddenly, there was a very peculiar tingling in his head. Fear, and something else, something…sinister.

The man looked up from his paper. White and blue clothes, bandana… another sailor.

_He should remain right here…_

"Sir, I'm afraid this is a restricted area. You're going to have to turn around…"

The man drowned out his words. Images, things that made no sense, were appearing before him. He felt his grip tighten—

He looked down, and his vision swam. A knife was in his hand.

He looked back up, a slow, murderous gleam in his blue eyes that the sailor failed to notice.

"Hey, you're looking a little lost, mister—"

The man moved swiftly.

_Sswisshh!_

The knife blurred as the blade sliced through warm flesh, drenching the pavement and splattering the man's face with hot fresh blood. The sailor's voice gurgled, his throat severed. He fell without a fight, clutching his neck.

So many thoughts were swirling through the man's mind, so fast, he felt his head pounding. There was something exciting about what he had just done. Something sick. Something—familiar.

A split second before horror overtook him again, he looked down into the eyes of the dead man and whispered with menace, "My name is Mr. Zsasz."

* * *

"Shomen ni rei!" *

Danielle bowed to the front of the small dojo. A small, fierce Japanese woman stood at the front of the class, black eyes flashing as she took in each pupil's posture and stance. This time, Danielle was the student, and it was a good change of pace. It felt nice to let someone else take control.

The police had called her earlier today. After scouring the security tapes, they still had no leads on the Note Writer, as she had taken to calling the mysterious harrier. They were keeping the case open, for now treating it as a harassment case. The classes would continue for now.

_I wish they'd show their face, whoever they are, so I can give them a taste of my baseball bat! _The fierceness of the thought surprised her. She hadn't touched her baseball bat since-

"Kiotsuke, Danielle-san!"

"Hai, Tanaga-sensei!" she called back, straightening up. Kairi Tanaga was the best of the best, the star pupil of a gifted master ever since she was a young girl. Though only a few years older than Danielle, she was a master in her own right. Bruce Wayne of all people had introduced them three years ago when she had arrived in Gotham to run her own dojo behind the fish market. _So Bruce Wayne, the ultimate billionaire former playboy, knows martial arts? _It was a hilarious thought.

"Partners!" Tanaga-sensei called. Julien approached her, tousled black hair standing high on his head. It looked vaguely like a duck's butt. _If I taught my class the way Tanaga-sensei teaches hers… Well, no one would be foolish enough to attack any of Tanaga-sensei's students. My self-defense class is about avoiding confrontation, mastering escape… This class is all about facing confrontation, mastering a fight._

She just barely managed to dodge Julien's attack. He swerved, fist still outstretched. A hit could have sent her flying.

_My class is intro level at best, giving them a can of mace instead of an empty hand. Tanaga's class is like handing someone a sword! And even a sword deflects bullets better than mace._

She took a half step back and found her center. Julien had paused to study her openings.

_I don't have the resources to train fighters. With my revolving door of students, of victims with broken bones and trauma and fear… The best I can do, is teach them to be survivors._

She pivoted slightly, focusing on Julien's points as well – and moved suddenly as she felt wind from her back. Tanaga-sensei's foot whooshed by her head, missing by a half inch. The teacher landed in front of her in a fearsome, tigerlike crouch, and Danielle's heart rate accelerated.

She saw movement out of the corner of her eye as Julien advanced. She moved quickly, eyes darting back and forth to keep Julien and Tanaga-sensei both in her sights. She pivoted again as Julien tried to circle behind her.

_Oof!_ Red filled her vision as the floor bit into her chin and pain shot through her left foot.

Tanaga-sensei stood over her. With grudging respect, Danielle realized the teacher had seen an opening and exploited it, tripping her. She sighed as she got to her feet, gave Tanaga-sensei a respectful bow, and resumed sparring with Julien.

_If that had been a real fight, I would already be dead._

-/-/-/-/-

"You seem distracted today, Danielle-san," Tanaga-sensei approached her after class. Off to the side, Julien glanced over at them and nodded to show Danielle he would wait. She nodded back thankfully.

"You must be more mindful of your surroundings," Kairi said, looking up at her seriously. "When your thoughts are chaotic, it translates to your awareness, and your enemies will take advantage." She nodded to Danielle's left foot. "If you are concerned, grow quiet inside and observe. It will help you."

_Grow quiet inside._ Danielle felt her breathing slow, and as her muscles relaxed, the pit in her stomach, that she didn't even know she was holding, relaxed. "Thank you, Tanaga-sensei."

* * *

Victor Zsasz huddled on the pavement, sobbing, a puddle of vomit at his feet, far, far away from the dead sailor, who was sitting propped up on the crate, snuffed cigarette in hand, newspaper crumpled and spilled and soaked with blood.

For some reason it had felt respectful to pose the body, as if he were honoring the man somehow. But part of the ritual was missing… Before he could think about it, the buzzing in his head returned. But for just a moment, it had all felt so very familiar.

Was he some sort of mental ward escapee? Should he turn himself in to the police? The thought made him angry.

He had called himself Mr. Zsasz. Yes, that _was_ his name. _Zsasz. _Like a hissing of a knife. Serrated like the blade in his hand.

He removed the bloody knife thoughtfully from his pocket. How had he gotten another knife on him? Why would he have so many? He had checked his pockets – he had five others. _What kind of nut am I?!_

_'It seems you are going insane, Killer.'_

"WHAT?!" the man looked around frantically. The voice had come out of nowhere.

"Who is there?" He brandished the knife and spoke softly in singsong, sneering into the shadows, "You cannot hide from me."

_'Look around all you like, it will do you no good.' _The voice sounded very close to his ear. The man whipped his head around.

There was a quiet, ominous chuckle.

"Where are you?" He held up the knife, heart pounding. "Are you the one who's been following me? Do you know what I will do to you if you continue to play games with me? _No one_ plays games with me!"

_'You are in no position to make threats, Killer.' _The laughter continued, and the buzzing in his head worsened.

If he didn't know any better—

"You're in my…head," he whispered. The sudden realization nauseated him.

_'How perceptive,' _the mysterious voice hissed,_ 'Or is your mind playing tricks on you, Killer?'_

"Stop calling me that! My name is Mr. Zsasz, and you would do well to remember it—"

_'Ah yes. The famous Mr. Zsasz. One hour ago you did not remember your own name.'_

Zsasz stopped, and his blood practically turned to ice. "Do you mean to say that this dizziness, these memories from nowhere… The way I cannot seem to remember _anything!_ Is _your_ fault!"

A long pause, and then the voice spoke with sinister delight. _'I suggest you return to the ship you left. Someone will be by to take care of you.'_

He flinched. White-hot pain exploded in his head. _The boat… He was pitching with the waves, hiding in the cargo hold, seasick, praying that the men in black did not catch up— _He gasped for air. As the haziness faded from his eyes, he glared at the nothingness in front of him, clenching his fists in anger. The memory had been drawn from him, as if a long-shut door had been cut open by a burning poker. He knew how he got here now…

"You cannot fool me!" he sneered. "I am not so simple. You either work for them, or you're just a symptom of some sort of insanity I have. Since when do I listen to _voices_ in my head—AAH!"

_A flash of two coffins, his parents—he knew they were his mother and father. His head, bowed and crying, superimposed with a wrecked boat, oh the images rent his brains. And a bridge. A great and terrible bridge—_

Why were these coming to him now? What was happening to him?!

The Voice was still talking, still mocking him.

_'And how do you know I am not an angel, sent to protect you in this cruel world?'_

"You're not real." Cold anger seeped into Mr. Zsasz's voice. "You're playing games with me."

_'Hardly. I needn't play games with you…Killer.'_

"I- already- told you- not- to call me Killer!" Zsasz gritted. "Do you think I am foolish enough to take orders from you when you would as soon lead me into the lion's maw?"

_'You are alone, in a place you do not remember,'_ The Voice gloated._ 'You are helpless.'_

"In case you didn't notice, I am very handy with a knife…" A sickening thought occurred to him. "Or is my recent murder spree your doing as well?"

_'Believe it or not, the capacity to murder has always been in your bones. You have a purpose to fulfill. I merely make certain you are fulfilling it to my wishes.'_

_"_I do not follow anyone's endeavors but my own!"

There was a long pause, and then The Voice sighed with satisfaction. _'Very good. You're beginning to sound like your old self again, Victor Zsasz!' _The Voice hissed out the syllables of his last name._ 'Now pick up your blade and follow my directions. I will not ask you to return to the ship at this time, but I will help you realize your purpose.'_

"My purpose? Of killing?"

_'You are meant to slaughter the whole world. I will guide you. It was always your purpose, your destiny. You will make the world a better place.'_

Zsasz picked up the knife. His eyes shone grey in the moonlight.

_If I ignore The Voice, it might drive me crazier. It might make me slaughter more people! But if I listen for now, then maybe I can learn more and…escape somehow… From whoever is following me. I know The Voice must be connected—_

He stopped dead, horror dawning on him.

"Oh no." He bit his lip as the memory, only a glimpse before, came flooding out in full relief.

_There was someone here. Someone was looking for him._

_A flash of black, a cape against the night. Gauntlets made of black steel, dark grey armor. A face hidden in shadows with terrifying eyes…_

_Zsasz saw himself dangling, choking from the mighty iron grasp of a monster. He clutched at the gauntlets, trying desperately to free himself. The nightmarish face loomed before him. A deep voice, like thunder: "Victor Zsasz!"_

_"In the flesh, Batman!" he heard himself reply, and then blackness overtook him—_

"Batman!" Instinctively he whipped out a second knife and glared into the darkness, fear and hatred coursing through his veins. _The shadow following me is… Batman!_

"So you're the one," he growled angrily. "You're the one I cannot escape! I remember you perfectly, Batman, how could I ever forget?! IS THAT YOU?! Are you the one playing games in my head?!" He waited, teeth clenched, to hear the answer.

_'I am not…him,'_ The Voice replied with a solemnity that surprised Mr. Zsasz. He knew immediately that The Voice was telling the truth. _'Though I find it interesting that you have now remembered him. Tell me, Victor Zsasz – are you afraid of him?'_

"I don't know," he admitted reluctantly. "I felt afraid for a moment when I imagined him…" _He's the one who wants to take me back to imprisonment._ "I mean, shouldn't I be?"

The Voice chuckled softly. _'Of course you should.'_

The knife in his hand felt…comfortable. He wished he could find the source of The Voice, so he could slit its owner's throat…not to mention the Batman. _I must be a murderer after all. The thought of killing again is… too easy._

With a rapidly growing sense of unease in the pit of his stomach, Zsasz walked into the night, silently listening to the voice in his head.

_**-/-/-/-/-**_

-0-

Translations:

* "Shomen ni rei" = "Bow to the front"  
* "Kiotsuke" = "Pay attention!"


	6. Chapter 5: Research

**A/N:** Thank you 4SeasonsChick for reviewing and Batfangirl7773 and Trudes193 for following! Good to see you again, my friends. :)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Batman. Probably. My memory is fuzzy. :)

**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Five: RESEARCH-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

It was all over the news. "The near-death experience of three Gotham citizens in a home in a quiet neighborhood, at the hands of two gunmen, was thwarted by Gotham's greatest hero – the Batman!" Vicki Vale's cheerful voice blared from the radio. "Fortunately, the Batman was able to take out the gunmen, and two other men in a getaway car, and prevent what would have been certain tragedy—"

Danielle clicked off the radio and sighed deeply. Scott had called her last night to tell her the news personally. He left a message rambling about how lucky he had been that Batman had been in the neighborhood and how he hoped that no one else would come after him. It made her heart soar to hear the happiness in her student's voice. Hopefully he would be there for Tuesday's class so she could congratulate him personally on his safety, and to covertly make sure there were no follow up threats. He had no idea that she had talked to Batman and she wanted to keep it that way.

She went to the dojo again to practice, and afterward she felt so lighthearted that she went to Gotham Square. They weren't selling ice cream right now, but they did have some delicious hot chocolate.

Monday rolled around quickly enough. She got to the office early, eager to start the new week—strange. She didn't remember leaving the door ajar when she left on Friday evening. Could there have been a reason for anyone to—

No. She knew there wouldn't be. There would be no reason for anyone to enter her office when she wasn't there.

Her blood froze in her veins. Hastily she summoned the security guard from the main lobby. He came grumpily, wanting to go back upstairs to guard the prime area of the hospital. She waited in the hallway, twisting her purse in her hands as the guard checked the room. "Nothing looks amiss, miss," he finally said, and before she could answer he disappeared back down the hallway.

She went inside. The pure white note was sitting on her desk. She knew it would be.

With trembling fingers, she began to read:

**_Naughty teacher did not learn…_**

**_I warned you once and will again:_**

**_Giving people self-defense_**

**_Hastens you toward your end!_**

**_Take a better path and live,_**

**_Make the choice to heed my threat._**

**_Attempt to ignore my warning twice_**

**_Results in your most deep regret._**

**_Excepting if you end the class._**

**_Solace in your skill will not last._**

* * *

_In dreams he floats. Giant ragdolls meander in the opposite direction, feet several inches off the ground, scraping the pink wallpaper._

_He looks down at his hands. __**Blood everywhere!**__ He gasps. Stinging all over his body, as though he has been cut hundreds of times. He doesn't dare look, afraid of what he might see._

_The doors are oddly shaped, and the clocks are melting. Hands spinning backwards. Bizarre. But not as scary as the moaning._

_He can barely hear it, just a wisp of it at first. But the more he focuses on it, the more he realizes he can hear nothing else. Just the ticking of the clock…and the moaning._

_He tries to will his body to float toward a wall, or possibly toward a chair. They seem bolted down enough. But when he gets there, his grip loosens perpetually and he cannot anchor himself in one spot. For all his efforts to grab on, his hands are too slippery, and his attempts speed him rapidly away from the chair._

_He keeps moving, more and more swiftly, as the ragdolls continue to pass him by—_

_On closer inspection, there is something wrong. The ragdolls' eyes are black buttons, their mouths sewn shut…_

_And yet each and every one of their throats is slit!_

_Zsasz screams. With a violent start, he realizes that the moaning is coming FROM THEM!_

_With horror, he begins to recognize features about each doll. This one has red hair made of yarn, wears a doctor's white lab coat. The next one, blonde yarn…a red dress…clearly a rich woman. And the one after, black muddy yarn hair, high heels, long nails, a short skirt… condom in hand..._

_They shouldn't have come back! He had saved them! They were gone… So why did they haunt him so?!_

_One by one, the ragdolls pass by him, rattling their porcelain limbs, emitting their low moans and screams… What makes them suffer so much? Can't he possibly do something to ease their suffering? The blood that drips from their necks is so much louder than the tick of the clocks. Each drop makes the hands move faster._

_Cold steel in his hand. He is holding a bloody knife. The drops of fresh blood from the blade are the loudest._

_A white light lies ahead. He scrambles to grab another chair, and another, and they slip through his fingers like butter. He must not go into the light! If he does, he will be sucked in and incinerated by the white hot pureness of truth! He would cease to exist and his mission would end! Oblivion, forever!_

_Now blood rains from the ceiling, falling on his face like crimson tears._

_One final doll, just before the light of oblivion. This one isn't screaming…_

_Blank, soulless eyes stare at him with chilling recognition. Her porcelain lips part, baring razor-sharp teeth. As Zsasz's mouth widens in terror, the angry doll raises a large baseball bat and swings—_

_-/-/-/-/-_

He awoke with a gasp. Sweat poured off his forehead, and he sighed deeply, almost pleasantly. "Zombies… they're all zombies…"

He had been having flashbacks for a few days. More of the puzzle pieces were beginning to slip into place. He remembered his parents. He remembered how he was orphaned. His familiarity with the blade was growing, as was his bloodlust.

The remorse he had felt at killing the five sailors had slipped away. All he felt now was…peace. Acceptance. _I have given them peace, a precious gift._

He smiled. "So that's what I am…"

A serial murderer. A _savior_ somehow.

_'"Savior" might be pushing it.'_

"Shut up," he told The Voice, and it scoffed in response.

That dream, albeit disturbing, had answered a lot of his questions. He felt a strange comfort as he looked down at the knife that materialized from his pocket. The handle felt so _right_. But he needed to know more.

Why, if he had led such an exciting life before, had he forgotten everything?

What could have happened to him that made him forget?

Who had he been?

_It was her._

_The doll with the baseball bat…the one who was still alive… _She knew him, knew who he was. He could feel it. Somehow she had all the answers.

* * *

The spectrometer had not yielded anything. But Batman was sure that there was something there. Something about it struck him as…off.

He sat in the Batcave, old-fashioned microscope in hand, peering down at the note Danielle Lee had received on Tuesday. He adjusted the lens ever so slowly… There! A slight iridescent sheen on the surface of the paper. But what did it mean?

If he didn't know any better, he would think it looked like-

BEEP! BEEP! His ears pricked up. That sounded like the police station's broadcast.

He pushed aside the note gently and tuned his cowl to hear better.

"Calling all units…" He could hear Officer Montoya's voice over the crackling frequency, "We are sending out an ABP for a suspect in five murders. Suspect is Victor Zsasz. Sending out an APB…"

He quickly patched himself in to a different frequency. "Oracle!"

He heard a yawn. "What is it, Bruce?"

"There was an alert just sent out over the police radio. Something about Victor Zsasz."

"What?! Zsasz is alive?!"

"Can you check the police database for any recent reports?"

He heard typing. "Yeah, here it is. Two separate reports. Four murders committed on the F-120, _USS Lodi, _four sailors. All posed, throats slashed. A knife was recovered with positive ID on Zsasz's fingerprints… The second crime scene wasn't far away. A lone sailor, same M.O."

"Hello, Master Bruce?" Alfred interrupted their conversation as he entered the Batcave, formal as always.

"One moment, Oracle. Yes, Alfred?"

"How do you do, Miss Barbara? Mrs. Selina has readied your breakfast, sir. She's very proud: she made the pancakes all by herself."

"Let Selina know I'll be there in a moment."

"Is something wrong, sir?"

"Victor Zsasz might be back." He stood up. "Oracle, I'm going to check out some of Zsasz's old hideouts. If he's really back, then he's extremely dangerous. I'm going to start searching for him."

"OK."

_It's only a matter of time before more bodies start turning up. I need to move quickly!_

Batman turned apologetically to Alfred. "Come to think of it… Tell Selina that I might need to take breakfast to go!"

* * *

"I need to find her."

_'Whom are you rambling about?'_

"A former victim of mine. She survived somehow. Ah, she has the answers I need." _The reaction I had to her in the dream… She's not a stranger to me, and I am not one to her. She recognized me. Maybe she can tell me what I've forgotten._ "I know that when I see her, it will come back to me." A psychotic smile. "And then I will bathe in her blood. I'm just _dying_ to know how she survived a man with _my_ track record."

And yet even as he talked of shedding her blood, he felt flustered inside. The thought of killing another person surprisingly no longer bothered him… But... _Kill someone, anyone who might have a connection to me?_ he thought._ So easily? And then go back to wandering aimlessly?_

He realized with a start that he didn't want to be alone. It wasn't anything to do with this girl or not - after all, he didn't even know who she was. Rather, it was the fear of being left alone with only The Voice for company… Alone, without even his own memories or his sense of self… But this talk of murdering her burst from him. Somehow, he thought it would appease The Voice to hear of his violence.

_'You would jeopardize your great mission for a mere woman?'_ Zsasz was surprised to hear the derision in The Voice._ 'Are you sure that this is where your destiny leads you?'_ As The Voice spoke, Zsasz felt the vague fuzziness start to return – but he would not be deterred!

"I must regain my memories, and she has the answers. I have never been more certain of anything in my life."

_'Memories are overrated. You have a mission now. You must not stop until the blood of all humanity runs beneath your boots—'_

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" Zsasz screamed. If he had to listen to that cackling, condescending, disembodied voice for one more second–!

The Voice laughed maliciously. _'If you want me so badly, I challenge you – come and find me. You will find me ready.'_

Zsasz gritted his teeth. The knife in his hand felt good. _"Ohh, today is a glorious day for you to die on!"_ He vowed to himself he would say those words someday – to the corpse that housed The Voice.

He wandered through the empty streets and the frosty air, searching for lost memories. He passed by a large compound with a skeletal sign heralding the desolate place as 'Sionis Steel Mill'. He shivered. Something about the look of the place unsettled him. His pace sped up as he continued past the gates, past the small smelly near-frozen moat nearby, past an old payphone…

White, blue, red, and green lights sparkled in the distance and caught his eyes.

It was _festive_. Beyond the skeletal buildings in this gloomy place were Christmas lights. This cold weather… it could only mean that Christmas was soon to come here. Somehow, the thought cheered him up.

_What do I usually do on Christmas? Do I enjoy the lights, the seasonal cheer? Or do I hate the world for experiencing such happiness while I remain alone? I wish I knew._

He stopped. "Oh…" _Something about this building…_

He went inside. He could hear the rushing of the water so close. There was a large floor-grate system, ruptured pipes, and a large empty chamber in the back of the room with a frost monitor…

"Not this one!"

He checked almost every building he could find in the Industrial District. He was beginning to feel dejected. What had given him the idea, even for a second, that he should listen to his own half-delusional ideas that the answers must be here of all places?

Suddenly, unbidden, the image of the doll came to mind – the one with the baseball bat. She had looked so fierce…and something else. Familiar. He felt an unexpected warmth when he thought of her. It made no sense! But…

"I cannot give up."

He tried another building. This one had large double doors on the inside, which led to a room surrounded entirely by water. The level kept rising and falling. Zsasz looked over the edge.

A skeleton lay on the bottom of the floor, barely exposed even when the water was at its lowest. Shreds of clothes hung off its body – _it looked like a hooded jacket! _He shuddered and continued over the walkway.

There was a glass room in the center, and inside were two cages. Abruptly Zsasz clutched his head.

_-ZZZ!_

_The knife scraped eerily against the metal bars. Goosebumps erupted over his skin. It was- ecstasy!_

_"Oho! Oho ho ho ha ha ha ha haaaa!" the joyous laugh sprang from deep inside him, and he turned away, brandishing the knife again. "You are probably praying I will end your lives quickly. I won't." He smiled into scared eyes, eyes that couldn't stop staring at the shining blade in his hand. "You…you I will gut like a fish!"_

_The prisoner moved away from the bars, terrified, as he swiped the air. Holding the blade up to his mouth, he kissed it. "Muah!"_

His eyes opened. "This is it… This is the place!" He looked down into the water again at the skeleton with a contemptuous sneer. "Poor little zombie…"

There was a floating bridge on the other side of the room, a whole other area he could not get to. Above it, on a ledge, was a vent, and he had seen an open air vent on the outside of the room near the double doors. _If I could just get up there…_

A few tries later, he was inside the vent, crawling along. Here it branched off… and at the end of the narrow tunnel, there was a shorted fuse box with a piece of metal sticking out. To his side, a small nook, filled with a bundle of papers—

Eagerly, lying flat on his belly in the narrow vent, he untied the bundle and realized, to his joy, that they were old newspaper articles, dated to a few years ago. He immediately recognized his name in the headlines.

**'TRIPLE HOMICIDE! ZSASZ LEAVES POLICE POSED!'** This one was dated five years ago. Apparently he had killed three policemen and left them sitting around a table in a strip joint, eating donuts. His brow furrowed.

_There are so many articles here. So many people I killed. And The Voice said I had a mission… Was this my great mission in life before now?_

**'MR. ZSASZ STRIKES AGAIN! SEVENTH STREETWALKER FOUND DEAD.'** Apparently he had been responsible for a string of murders dated six years back in another city. He had been killing streetwalkers, though the reports had indicated he did not engage in any sexual activities with them either before _or after_ they were killed. "So I'm not a sexual predator at least…" he mumbled to himself. _Precious little comfort there._

**'MR. ZSASZ APPREHENDED BY UNDERCOVER COP.'** Apparently his little stint with the prostitutes had gotten him arrested. They had caught him by letting one of the officers pose undercover as a streetwalker, to bait him. His lip curled.

**'ESCAPE FROM ARKHAM! ZSASZ AGAIN ON THE LOOSE!'** Apparently—

_Enough._ He flipped through the articles, ignoring the headlines and instead focusing on the pictures. He failed to see any pictures that reminded him of the doll with the baseball bat. Somehow, he felt, he would just know when he saw her.

Here! The last article, dated three and a half years ago. **'ZSASZ ATTEMPTS HOSPITAL MURDER, GIRL SURVIVES'.** There was a picture of his own face, a mugshot, and a second smaller picture of a girl with long dark hair and big dark eyes.

"Is this you?" he whispered to himself.

Underneath the picture was the caption: 'Danielle Lee.'

"Danielle…Lee," he tried the name slowly, wondering if saying it aloud would poke loose any memories.

_Three and a half years ago? How could she survive for so long?_ He searched again, but there was no article about her death.

He found himself humming a song as he looked carefully at her picture. He could hear the words: "All around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces…" He could hear the piano softly in his ears, a ghostly melancholic sound.

_No mention of a baseball bat. But something about her is so familiar… I feel… I feel like I know her… Can she help me remember? Is this why I returned?_

Hope burst in him, soon squelched by a fearful thought. _Or is she somehow responsible for what happened to me? That baseball bat…_ He shuddered. _Did she hit my head and make my memories disappear? Three years ago when the last article was? Or sooner? If I go to her now…_ The thought didn't sit well with him.

He looked at her picture again. She didn't look intimidating. But then, that didn't mean very much, especially considering his own track record. You could never judge a book by its cover.

_Except for maybe the Batman…_ Anger bristled, and then…something occurred to him. Something strange, something he had just seen. Fear pricking up his back, he slowly looked again toward the shorted circuit box. More specifically, toward the metal that had shorted it. His mouth fell open in astonishment.

The piece of metal was in the shape of a _bat._

* * *

With a soft flutter, Batman landed in front of the old hideout. It had been years since he had needed to enter here. There were two other known hideouts of Victor Zsasz; this was the earliest one of recent years.

He could hear the water softly rising and falling from the other room. The police had never removed the remains of the political prisoner Zsasz had murdered here. He had saved the other two… but the unfortunate third man was now one more person who haunted his conscience. _One more person I couldn't save._

He searched the room quickly. No sign of Zsasz. But something in the air… It felt like someone had been here recently.

He turned to go.

A flash of metal caught his eye. Right beneath the old vent near the double doors… Batman came closer to investigate.

Then his eyes narrowed.

There was a knife sticking out of the wall. And speared on the end was one of his own Batarangs.

* * *

Mist swirled around him. The footsteps of doom approaching on an unsuspecting world.

Knives in one pocket. Newspaper articles in the other. A hoodie on from some unfortunate homeless man he had stabbed. Yes. He was Victor Zsasz. And no—

_'Where are you going now, Killer?'_

No stupid voice in his head was going to stop him!

Yet he paused. Glared at the nothingness in front of him, and growled. "To the store. I'm starving." Not waiting for an answer from the mental menace, he walked onward.

The modest store hadn't much. Mostly breads and canned goods, a couple of packaged pastries. Low quality food. He didn't mind. He hadn't eaten in… several days, it felt like. Not counting the blood he'd ingested from his kills.

He bought two small bags of candy, some bread, and a beer. The cashier gave him a look for favoring alcohol so early in the day.

He stared at the cashier. Something about the man was off—No, rather something about the man's _reaction_ to him was off. He stood stupidly at the register for a moment, change collected in his hand, and tried to piece it together. The cashier gave him an impatient look.

It wasn't until he was out of the store that he realized: it was the cashier's _lack of a reaction_ that disturbed him. Somehow, that didn't feel normal.

He looked at his reflection in the store window. Aside from the bags under his eyes, he looked perfectly… normal.

_Something was missing._

* * *

_"And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I ever had…"_

The bridge loomed before him, half concealed by mist. His feet had led him here, and he had followed, despite The Voice's protests and loud mockeries. The mist made the metal smell even stronger, mixed with the salty spray.

This was it. The great and terrible bridge he had seen in the shred of a vision. His mouth fell open softly. _Something happened here. I feel it._

He leaned on the railing and looked down. The waves were far below him, crashing into the pilings. A fall from this height would kill a man—

_Or perhaps the homeless man in the shadows would kill him. The old man stank of urine and cigarettes and bad breath. Several teeth were missing. He must have looked shocked, for the man held out his knife with a sharp jab. "All your money, now!" He felt his pockets. They were empty. The sheer nakedness of the moment crashed down on him. He would die. It was inevitable—_

Zsasz gasped, shuddering and clutching his head.

_And he stared into the beggar's eyes, willing him to understand—and there he saw something…familiar. Something equally inevitable._

_This man was just as alone as he was, needlessly suffering._

_Tears almost stung Zsasz's eyes. He could help. He didn't need to suffer anymore; Zsasz could take away this man's suffering._

The scream of the homeless man echoed in his head, and he twitched, as if hit by a wave of blood. When he looked down at himself, he was clean, and yet the memory stained his skin. He looked again at the railing, eyes calculating, heart darkening. Instead of receding, the nausea worsened suddenly. And to his horror, the next memory burst forth in perfect clarity.

_He walked along the bridge, as the streetlights cast an eerie glow. There! In the middle of the bridge… It was her! The girl from the article… She turned to look at him—his heart leaped in his throat—_

_She listed. Clutched her head. "I'm so confused." The words echoed in the air around him. He approached her._

_"I finally see the world as you do, Zsasz…"_

_He felt a shiver of fear, of despair._

_"We can be happy together!"_

_Shapes blurred around them- Pain- A cutting sensation- Too much!_

_Soft arms wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his sides. He looked down at the head of brown hair. "Danielle…" Intense warmth, her head resting soothingly against his chest, and then—falling!_

_The hands that had gripped him, suddenly pushed him, leaving him cold and alone! Her face fading away and the wind bearing down. Plummeting, toppling, tumbling alone into oblivion-_

"No-" he choked as the final memory ripped through him.

He shook his head but he could not block out the images. He saw the railing of the bridge again, fading out of reach, and her face at an odd angle, watching coldly as he fell. Fear swelled in him as he realized he was about to die alone-

This was it. _I understand. My mind could not handle this memory, so it buried it - but it has never stopped haunting my heart._

He closed his eyes, his own screams echoing in his head. And when he opened them, veins bulging, he had only one desire.

"I will kill you, zombie!"

Reason was gone, and blood pounded through him. Oh, he remembered _now!_ He could see her brown hair, the soft smile on her face - the eyes hiding her deceit. This girl, this would-be murderer…

She had tricked and seduced him. Tried to end his life. He shuddered as he recalled again the momentary relief he'd felt when she hugged him. All torn away mere second later when she had pushed him over the edge!

It was time to pay her back in kind!

His eyes swept along, and through the mist he saw a payphone booth. There was even a phone book swinging idly on the inside…

* * *

She sat at home, hands shaking. Officer Bullock had arrived at the hospital to investigate. He had taken the note with him for evidence and told her to go home early. He was right. She was in no shape to teach the class. Was this it? Would the class be permanently closed down?

She hugged the pillow softly to her chest. Everything they had been working for… The work that she and Bruce Wayne and Mrs. Phillips had done… That class was to give them all hope. So that no one would be sitting home alone terrified for their lives ever again. And to think that some arrogant prick had threatened to revictimize them through the very class that undid their victimhood—

Her teeth clenched.

_No, Goddamn it!_

The pillow went flying across the room.

She stood up. Punched the sofa so hard that the wood splintered. Now there was a nice dent in the armrest.

"You think you can intimidate us?!" she ranted to thin air. "You little coward, you write two-bit little anonymous notes and want to shut us down? I dare you! Come and find me, face-to-face. I will make you sorry you ever messed with us!"

She sat down in a huff. Too bad the police said they had to proceed cautiously. She wanted nothing more than to take matters into her own hands. She'd beat every crook who came her way until she found the creep who was writing the notes – and then she'd break each of his (or her) fingers! They'd never write another nursery rhyme ever again!

She sighed. She needed to tell Cindy. Maybe, just maybe the police would catch a lucky break and find this creep. Thanksgiving was on Thursday. Maybe she could just try to relax and enjoy the day with Cindy's family and Mrs. Phillips and then maybe-

The phone rang. She checked caller ID, but did not recognize the number.

"Hello?" she snapped.

There was a long pause on the other end, and for a moment she thought – hoped – that it was the Note Writer.

"Hello, little zombie…"

She gasped.

"Do you recognize my voice?"

Her skin turned to gooseflesh. Her _scars_ ached.

Three long years…

_"It can't be!"_

**_-/-/-/-/-_**

**-0-**

**A/N:** The song Zsasz is singing is "Mad World", Gary Jules' version. I don't own it (disclaimer).


	7. Chapter 6: Remember

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman, or Zsasz.

**A/N:** Thank you 4SeasonsChick and Trudes193 for the reviews. They always make my day. :)

Anyone else excited for _Batman: Arkham Knight_? :D October, woo hooooo!

-0-

**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Six: REMEMBER-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

Danielle stared at the phone. The room pitched suddenly and she had to hold on to the dented armrest of the couch to steady herself.

_"Do you recognize my voice?"_

"It can't be!"

"Say my name, little zombie. I want to hear my murderer breathe my name with fear in her voice…" his voice grew higher in his deranged joy.

"I—"

"Say it!"

"Victor Zsasz," she whispered. Chills erupted across her skin. "It can't be you."

"'It can't be you'," the cruel voice on the other end mocked her. "But it is! I have returned, and this time it will be for your blood!"

"But how?"

"Does it matter how?"

"Yes! How did you survive?"

A pause, and then a soft malevolent chuckle on the other end. "You sound so disappointed. Did you think your pathetic attempt to end my life would work?"

She took a deep breath. "I—"

"I wonder, do you feel guilty for trying to seduce me, only to betray me in the end? How did you pull it off, zombie? How did you make me sacrifice everything? Well?" His voice rose. "What do you have to say in your defense?"

She wanted to yell, to say it wasn't true, to remind him that she had meant for them to die together.

But somewhere inside of her, a cynical voice spoke up. _How ironic is it,_ it cautioned her, _that Zsasz would return in the very same week that someone leaves you not one note but two, threatening your classes? What are the chances, or are you really so naïve? Someone is playing games with you…_

"How do I even know it's you?" she said slowly. "How do I know you're not someone playing a joke on me?"

"What-" Zsasz heard the abrupt change in tone. "Why-?"

"Victor Zsasz has been dead for three years!" Her voice hardened. "If he were really still alive, he would have come back before now. Sorry, loser, your joke didn't work. Go hug yourself!" She hung up.

Zsasz stared at the receiver, burning with anger. So, the would-be murderer thought she could hang up on him? His lip curled. He had the distinctive impression that he was good at tracking people down before his memory loss. It was time to put that to the test.

-/-/-/-/-

BRIIING! Danielle's landline rang again.

"Are you persistent or what?!" she fumed, staring down at the phone. She was so tempted to pick it up, chew the mystery person out—

BRIING!

—As tempting as that was, maybe she should let the police handle it. Heck, she could copy down the number from caller ID and see if it would help them track this guy—

BRIING!

_Oh crap. Caller ID says this is a different number. It's not him!_

"Hello?" she asked, hastily picking up the phone.

"Sorry to disturb you at home, Miss Lee."

_Batman. Thank god. _"It's no trouble…" _Something must be serious if he's calling me at home. _"Um, was there something else about the people who attacked Scott?"

"No, it's not that. Something happened, and I thought I should tell you personally. There have been two crimes. Five bodies, posed, with their throats slashed. You know what this means."

Her stomach lurched.

"Oh God no—"

"Danielle, Victor Zsasz is back."

* * *

Her heart was hammering in her chest. For a long moment, a haze came over her, drowning out all sound and thought. One sentence floated in her brain: _Victor Zsasz is back._

"We thought you should know about it," Batman's voice snapped her out of her daze. "You were his last target. He has a habit of picking up where he left off. You might need some police protection—"

"No! Ugh, I mean…" she pinched the bridge of her nose. "I-I'm sorry…it's…"

"What is it?"

"I heard from him."

"You what?"

"I thought it was someone just pretending to be him. Funny story really, he called me a few minutes ago. Wants me dead, of course," she said shakily.

"Of course," there was no humor in Batman's tone. "You're in danger."

"We got another note today," she blurted out.

"Another one? With rhymes?" He could hear the fear in her voice, though she masked it well.

"Yeah." She laughed bitterly. "And now Zsasz is—Well, that would make sense, wouldn't it? If Zsasz is alive, maybe he's the one who's been sending me these creepy notes!"

"I wouldn't be too hasty to assume." _Zsasz's M.O. never involved sending written threats before, not that I know of._ "Have you told the police?"

"Yes. They're analyzing it and said they'll get back to me about whether or not to stop the classes."

"You might need more protection than just stopping the classes, now that _two_ maniacs are after you. Check in with Gordon, and stay sharp."

"I will—" Click.

She stared at the receiver blankly and then hung up the phone with more force than usual.

Meanwhile, as Batman's mind raced, he made a call.

"Oracle! I need your help with something…"

"What is it, Bruce? More stuff on Zsasz?"

"Not this time. Can you check to see which regulars at Arkham are imprisoned, and which ones are still at large?"

"Anyone specific you have in mind?"

"Either the Mad Hatter or the Scarecrow. Possibly Riddler as well. Someone's been leaving the self-defense teacher death threats in nursery rhyme form."

"Danielle Lee? Someone's threatening her?"

"I'm amazed they didn't do it sooner. Criminals aren't thrilled when someone starts fighting back, or in this case, several people. They must have found out about her classes."

"Maybe she needs a secret identity…"

"Out of the question! Not after what—"

He heard her sigh into the headpiece. "Bruce, you're going to have to forgive yourself for that one day. I've accepted it. I don't want you to burden yourself with it. You have enough that you burden yourself with."

Batman didn't say anything. He couldn't; he was gritting his teeth too hard. He thought of Oracle up in the Clock Tower, wheelchair-bound, possibly forever. _I wish I'd been faster, Barbara…_

* * *

_Drip, drip._

The Note Writer sighed, flexing fingers, hiding in the damp hole in plain view. The perpetual smell of sweat and rubbing alcohol drifted faintly in the air from the hallway.

Would the little teacher stop the classes? The police had been eager to find clues. There had been none. The Note Writer was too careful.

Common ink and nice paper, and it was amazing what a simple threat could do. An innocuous little note could make people contort in the most amusing ways.

The little teacher had not seen the extent of the Note Writer's work. She had better stop those classes soon. If not… well, _she would find out soon enough, wouldn't she?_

_Drip, drip._

* * *

Danielle stood in the brilliant white living room, ambient light from the foggy outdoors filtering in and making her surroundings glow. She looked out her window beyond the opaque curtains. A world of greys, light and dark, making the world outside seem asleep.

_Victor Zsasz is back._

The sentence filtered into her head. Millions of images passing in each instant, ethereal, flashing back and forth as she blinked.

_Victor Zsasz is back. He's still here._

He was still in the world somewhere. Maybe even here, in Gotham.

_I didn't kill him._

She sat down very suddenly on her couch. She tried to form a coherent thought. Tried to make herself feel a certain way about it. There was too much there. All she knew was that an enormous world of possibilities had just opened up – some scary, some downright evil, some strangely hopeful – but all surrounding the basic reality that _Victor Zsasz is alive._

She couldn't move. And after a few long moments, she stopped trying to.

* * *

_"Went to school and I was very nervous  
No one knew me, no one knew me  
Hello teacher, tell me, what's my lesson?  
Look right through me, look right through me…"_

_"And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad  
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had  
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take  
When people run in circles, it's a very very…  
Mad world."_

* * *

_It's all going to begin again. The phone calls, the chases…the sexual assaults… _She shivered. _No, actually, __**none**__ of that's going to happen. He said he's back here to kill me. He's not playing any games this time…_

Hours seemed to pass. She found her fingers softly tracing the enso tattoo on her stomach, the peaks of the mountain tattoo inside the enso… and gradually the scar he had given her when he stabbed her through the left side of her abdomen. This one was raised higher than the others and had faded the least. It could easily be called her "ugliest" scar, even in light of the criss-crosses and constellations that marred her back. She had gotten the one on her abdomen the night she had tried to burn Zsasz alive.

Ugly or not, her scars had become very special to her. They were the equivalent of Zsasz's marks in some way. Proof that she lived.

_I wonder how many more marks he has now?_

She stood up, fingers falling away from her stomach, and shuffled toward the kitchen.

The last time she had seen him, he had 488 marks on his body. That was 488 people that the police had failed to save. How many more had they failed to save now?

"Where on Earth was he these past three years?" she mused aloud as she put the kettle of water on the stove. "Was he somewhere else 'liberating' people? Butchering and snuffing out other people's brightness?"

_Goddamn it, I didn't stop him after all! And now more people are dead because Zsasz is alive! Because of me!_

Anguish rent her guts. "Why the hell did I carry around the guilt for so long? And why am I still carrying it now?"

As much as she wanted him to stop, she inexplicably wanted to apologize to him for killing- no, _almost _killing him. It had never stopped weighing on her. It seemed he hadn't forgotten about it either, not that he would. Was that why he had taken so long to return? Because he hated her? Or because he loved her and had to relearn how to hate?

"Really?" she admonished herself as she put the teabag in the cup and poured the boiling water over it. Steam invaded her nostrils and she coughed, tears leaking out. "A sociopathic serial killer wants me dead, and that's what I'm thinking about? I need to prepare to fight for my life!"

And yet as the tea steeped, all those nights came back, the nights she had spent walking home, strolling with ghosts, shouting in the wind, reliving every moment of that one night. And the many days she spent, standing on the Sprang Bridge, wishing and grieving that it had gone differently. How many times had she felt remorseful for Zsasz's death, even though she shouldn't?

_And now he's alive. He didn't die._

A softly hopeful thought came to her.

"Maybe now that he's alive… it's not too late." A watery smile. "Maybe I can show him the value of life after all. If he doesn't kill me first."

_You mean, if he doesn't kill hundreds of others first. Let the police handle him, and just try to survive for now, and protect you and yours!_

"Oh my God, that's right…" she murmured, dropping her teacup onto the coffee table and picking up the phone. "Cindy?"

She sighed with relief when she heard a yawn on the other end. "Yes, girl? Are we still on for tea on Wednesday?"

"Absolutely. Cindy… there's something important I have to tell you…"

* * *

She awoke the next morning with a stiff neck. Sleeping awkwardly on the couch will do that to you. That and the nightmares.

There was work to do.

Now there were potentially two people after her. _Living here just keeps getting more and more dangerous, _she thought with a grim smile. It was time to put some extra precautions in place.

Zsasz had broken into her home before. She had no idea if he knew where she lived now. She wouldn't try to kill him again – but she sure as hell wouldn't make it easy on him if he tried to pay her a house visit.

The phone usually sat on a small table next to the couch, very close to the phone jack but very far away from the front door. Luckily the phone cord was several meters long. The extra wire usually sat in a neat bundle under the side table. She worked for a half hour, taping the wire to snake around the room, and then finally mounting the phone to the wall directly across from her front door.

_I can call the police immediately if I need to when I get in the door. And I know how Zsasz thinks… I wouldn't put it past him to disconnect my phone lines to make sure our "conversation" is uninterrupted. If I come home and the phone is dead, I know right away that someone's in here._ She promised herself to make a habit of picking up the phone first thing when she got home, just to make sure there was a dial tone. There would still be time and space to escape if it were dead.

Next she hid the knives. _Though he's probably already armed to the teeth._ The oven broiler seemed like a good place for them.

The first aid kit went on the coffee table. _If I have to escape quickly, I'll take that instead of my purse this time. _She also put out a handful of money.

_Broom, mop, practice staff from the dojo, anything with a long handle._ She put those things neatly by the front door. Weapons on hand in case someone was waiting inside the door for her.

She glanced out the window. Her balcony had a fire escape on it. In spite of the necessity of the fire escape, she always worried that someone determined enough could hoist themselves up from ground level onto the lowest balcony and climb up to her floor, breaking in through the large sliding window. Or alternatively take the common elevator to the roof and then descend using the fire escapes. She lived on the seventh floor. Yet she still didn't feel totally safe.

_I should have gotten bars over the glass. Or an accordion gate or something._ She briefly considered moving two tall bookshelves in front of the sliding window to prevent someone from getting in. _But if I do that, then I'll have no way to escape if there's a fire! Am I strong enough to topple a bookshelf in an emergency?_

_Yes I could. But then, an intruder would be just as capable. They could break the glass from the outside, reach in and push over the bookshelves. Damn!_

She decided to move the bookshelves in front of the window anyway.

_If someone's determined enough to get in, then they will. I just have to be ready for that._

Before she left for work, she took a final look under the bed. The object lying there made her smile grimly. If things were desperate, she always had her backup plan.

* * *

The streets seemed crisper today. Or maybe she was hyperaware of every breeze, every sound, every footstep of every person around her.

She didn't run. She didn't panic. It wouldn't do any good. It was not a matter of _if_ Zsasz came for her, but rather _when_. She could spend the rest of her life running from him, or… she could face him. She could answer for what she had done to him…and accept what he had done to her. She could finally stand her ground.

Mace in one pocket, cell phone in the other. If she could hold her own long enough for the police to arrive, then she could get him behind bars. He would never kill another person again as long as they kept him this time. She had a better chance of surviving him than some innocent victim out there, and so it was better if he was fixating on her. _If he thinks I'm the same Danielle Lee I was three years ago, he has another thing coming._

_I will never become your victim again, Victor Zsasz! Bring it._

When she stepped into the hospital, it hit her that Zsasz had stalked her there before, since her last job had been in the same building. She almost facepalmed at the realization. Her old office was even right down the hall! He'd definitely come there!

_If he steps into my self-defense studio, he'll get a lesson he'll never forget._

She spent most of the day scrubbing the mats. When it came time for class, she found herself pushing her students harder, warning them that the classes might be shutting down soon, determined to toughen them up faster. She put all her energy into their exercises, exhausting herself, and after class she wound up calling a taxi to go home.

_Sorry_ _Zsasz, _she thought as the yellow and black cab pulled away from the curb, orange taillights bouncing off the front doors of the hospital._ If you were there today, you'll have to try again tomorrow._

The same restlessness continued the next day. If her students noticed how distracted she was, they didn't show it. She drank her usual tea with Cindy, carefully watching the cafe to make sure no one was following them. After work, she waited at the bus stop for her usual leisurely ride to the dojo. This time, the wait seemed anything but relaxing.

She glanced as casually as possible to the left. There were a couple of kids playing with a red ball next to the stop. Their mother looked hassled. No one else in sight.

To the right. Some people in heavy jackets walking the other way.

To the front. No one- Wait. _Someone's standing there, under the awning. Is he looking at me?_ She stiffened. The man under the awning didn't move. She could not see his face, but long skeletal fingers peeked out from thick sleeves. His body was angled toward hers. _How long has he been staring over there? _Seconds dribbled by. The stranger didn't move, and her tension grew. Finally, he shifted a little, and a bright red ember suddenly blazed near his mouth. When she squinted harder, she could see the smoke of a cigarette against the dark. She relaxed. _I'm too paranoid. I need to chill out._

The bus came shortly. Danielle took one last look around before she got on. Half the people on the bus were wearing heavy winter hoods, obscuring their faces. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She sat near the front and, at each stop, watched the new people get on the bus, scanning for anyone familiar. No one got on who resembled Zsasz.

Soon the smell of fish and the harbor wafted through the windows. She got off at the fish market and weaved through the stalls, back to Kairi's dojo, not sparing the bus another glance.

* * *

"Don't worry, I know she'll be out here," Zsasz grated. He looked around the desolate area. Large pillars barely showed in front of him as the sky rapidly darkened. An old highway once ran here… He wondered what had happened to it.

_'You are wasting your time! Surely there are worthier victims you can pursue. Why waste your time on one?'_

"For revenge," he spoke evenly. His eyes darted, looking for the brown-haired girl. _Danielle._ He had seen her disappear behind a stall, and now the stall was long gone, dismantled and packed away. Had he missed her somehow?

_'Revenge? Could there be a more pathetic target for revenge? Take vengeance against the society that made you what you are, Victor Zsasz! Slaughter them all. I will help you…'_

"Are you crazy?" He gritted his teeth. "I only just came here and I've found that this woman meant to kill me!" The grip on his knife tightened. "She is just begging to be slaughtered! After I kill her, there will be time to—"

_'You are close to the ship. Return to it. I will show you your true weapons. We will go from port to port, slaughtering everyone in the shipyards, and then you will be ready, and we will return to Gotham.'_

The ship. Now that The Voice mentioned it… he was rather close. The sound of the waves washed softly over his ears. Spectral silhouettes peered through the sea mist and incoming fog. He could go back to the boat—

He winced. _Were the bodies of the sailors still there?_ Suddenly he could picture the blood still staining his fingertips, taste the metallic residue in air tinged with blood. His stomach lurched.

_What? _he panicked._ I thought I was past worrying over their mortalities. Where are these feelings coming from? _His chest hurt, and the world swam before him. He could not get the sailors' screams out of his head...

"No," he said, regathering his strength, speaking more to himself than the wretched voice. "I tracked her here. I was successful. I will not let my prey live."

_'Of course not,'_ The Voice said, almost soothingly. _'You must do what is necessary, of course. Show no mercy, starting with your would-be murderess.'_

The Voice agreed! He seized on its encouragement. The Voice thought he should do this; then it was one more vote of confidence! The knife tightened. He wouldn't let these feelings, these apparitions, get in his way… He was Mr. Zsasz the Killer, after all.

As The Voice spoke in his ear, his eyes swept the harbor. The evening mist was coming in thick waves, obscuring his sight. Time to paint it red.

One by one the streetlamps ignited, and his pulse quickened until it pumped sickeningly fast. His smile was dark, excited.

"What do you want me to do?"

* * *

"Thank you, sensei," Danielle called as she left the dojo. Julien had been sick that day, so she was riding the bus home.

She passed by the koi pond just outside and stopped for a moment, watching the orange and black fish swim lazily. "What will you do when winter sets in?" she wondered. "Will your pond freeze over? Well, you survived last year, so Tanaga-sensei must know… I can't remember." She left through the hidden area behind Tanaga-sensei's fish stall.

There was a thick blanket of fog all around, with a hint of frost in the air. _Great, zero visibility. If I walk the wrong way, I could end up falling in Gotham Bay!_ It was so dense that she could not even see the pilings of the old broken highway.

Streetlights cut through the fog like ghost lanterns, turning the mist around their bulbs golden and ethereal. Her can of mace was in her hand. It would be too easy for someone to leap out of the fog and surprise her.

_Cindy's right,_ she scoffed. _I really am too much the self-defense teacher… But it's this carefulness that keeps me safe._ Her sneakers barely whispered on the concrete.

Two blocks to the bus stop. The outbound bus stop was farther away than the inbound one. Normally not something she had to worry about. But with Zsasz on the loose…

_Doubt he followed me all the way out here. I was careful. Still… can't be __too__ careful._

No sign of the bus stop. She frowned. _This isn't right. Do I need to retrace my footsteps?_ She shut her eyes, growing quiet inside, trying to get her bearings—

"Oh Danielle…"

Her eyes snapped open.

_Oh no._

FWWP!

She turned, and it seemed like everything moved too slowly. She saw the flash of silver cleaving the fog, felt a slight wind as she moved, and something whooshed through her hair, barely grazing her nose. The metal clanged, hitting the concrete pillar behind her and falling harmlessly to the ground.

It had missed her face by half an inch.

She pivoted. No one there… but a soft ominous chuckle.

_He's using the fog as a cover._

Stealthily she took out her cell phone and readied herself into an alert stance.

FWWP! Another knife out of the fog! Danielle dodged and the knife landed several yards behind her. _He's good._ Her fingers swiftly dialed 911.

_He might be getting ready to throw another knife. I need to stall him._

"It's been a long time, Zsasz!" she called out, crouching low and peering into the swirling mist.

"Please state your emergency—" her phone squawked.

"Gotham City, Harbor Market Square, please hurry," she whispered, slipping the phone into her purse. Quietly, she set the purse down, cell phone inside and on. _Hopefully the police can find us. No time to talk to them now._

"You are no longer in denial who I am? Now that you're faced with my knife!" His voice. There was no mistaking that voice. Her heart skipped a beat.

"No, Zsasz, I'm not in denial anymore."

She heard a soft giggle and turned her head subtly, trying to pinpoint the sound. Boots crunched on the gravelly pavement, then stopped.

"How did you find me here? I thought I was careful this time."

A long silence…

FWWP! She dodged again and heard his laughter, louder this time.

"You were careful, little zombie. Just not careful enough. You should have paid more attention to who was _already_ on the bus!"

_Lesson learned, if I get out of here alive._

"I was surprised to hear you were back. I thought… I thought you would have come back much sooner."

No answer.

"I heard about the five men you killed." _He's got more knives, and he's in a throwing mood. I can dodge him for a while, but getting in close is going to be a challenge. He was smart to choose this environment._ "So you really are back, huh? Same old Zsasz I remember."

"And how much do you remember?" his voice came out a hiss.

"I remember enough." She thought of the memorial stone on Arkham Island dedicated to his victims, how she had wept over the names. "I remember all the people you killed!" Groping blindly, she felt the cold steel handle of one of his thrown knives…

"And I will kill more, starting with you! I will not stop until the blood of humanity runs beneath my boots!"

She flung the knife in the direction of his voice. She heard a startled yelp and a scramble over moist pavement. A beat of silence. And then his eerie laugh, high and deranged, as if she had merely amused him rather than threatened him.

_There was something wrong with the phrase he just used. It was…unlike him._

"How many more people have you murdered these last three years? Wherever you were?"

"Three years?" he sighed, breathlessly. "Has it really been so long since we've seen each other?"

"I never stopped keeping count."

Silence. Only the whistling of the fog as the wind picked up, leaving salty droplets on her face.

"We could play hide-and-seek all night, Zsasz… Or you could show yourself."

"As you wish." _Behind her._ She turned, anticipating another knife, and the mist swirled dramatically, revealing him.

He was standing in the shadow near one of the highway pillars, staring at her. She could barely make out his face; sunken cheeks, crazy wide eyes, dark rings under them, a smile lined with teeth – he looked so much like the zombie in her dreams. But this was no dream. This was real.

"Hello, little Danielle… Do you remember me now, in the flesh?"

He was the same as she remembered. Exactly the same. _No, wait, there's something wrong…_ _But I can't put my finger on it…_

"How could I ever forget you, Zsasz?" she asked quietly. Her insides raced.

He smirked. The familiarity behind it made her lightheaded.

"How did you survive?" she breathed.

Here she was, finally. The girl who had plagued his thoughts for the past three days. She was prettier than he remembered — well, he _didn't _remember, but that was beside the point. Her cheeks flushed in the cold, with mist gathering in her hair…even the thin scars on her face were strangely beautiful. His mind flashed on the warrior's look that had emerged when he threw the first knife at her, and he wondered where her baseball bat had gone.

He wished he had all of the memories they must share, so that breaking her would be even sweeter – oh yes, he wanted her to suffer before he killed her.

"Perhaps you can tell me, zombie, why it was you wanted me to die? Why you threw me over a bridge and left me to drown?"

"So… You're back here for revenge. Is that it?" _That's it, keep him talking, get him to lower his guard and keep inching closer… C'mon, police, where are you?_

"I have got a knife in my hand, little zombie, calling out for your blood. Look how shiny! Do you want to see it soaked in red?" He smiled maliciously, and his voice took on a deceptively soft tone. "Now. I already know what you're going to do. I'm a cold-blooded murderer, aren't I? And you are going to _beg me_ for your life. Make it good. I might let you live a few pathetic seconds longer for my own amusement…" His eyes widened in anticipation.

_He looks like death itself. What happened to him? How did he survive?_

"You look sad," his menacing voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "Are you so sad that I didn't die? That all your planning was for nothing?"

"Planning? You think I planned to be rescued at the last minute, while you oh-so-conveniently fell to your death? That takes a talent I don't possess, Zsasz."

"Speaking of talent, how exactly did you seduce me?" he licked his lips slowly and leered at her with hungry blue eyes. "How did you manage to make me lower my guard, enough to get in close and kill me?" His wrist snapped forward and a knife hurtled straight at her, landing in the ground at her feet. She stopped advancing.

"'Seduce'…" she said slowly, bitterly. "That's a funny word for it."

The fights, the sexual assaults, the pleading, the conversations, the fear and pain and disgust from her ordeal three years ago passed fleetingly through her mind – yet she held her ground.

"You drove me to be suicidal… You _knew_ I was suicidal!" she kicked the knife in front of her angrily. "I didn't set out to be a murderer that night!"

"You lie. Payback is a horrible mistress, little zombie!"

"You know what?" She shook her head. "For just a second, I was relieved to hear you were still alive. I was afraid…that I _had_ killed you, and I didn't want to. I wished that…that all of it had gone a different way. I would have helped you. But now you're back here, killing again? I wish you had stayed dead!" A look of regret flashed across her face.

_A flash of something… A flash of green— pain— Screaming—_

"Did you feel happy when I died?" he snarled. "Did you dance on my grave?"

"No. I felt sorry for you."

"Oho! Spare me your pathetic pity! It won't save you. Now I think it is time you begged me for your life."

"Zsasz…"

"Well? You do seem upset!" he chuckled. "Please, continue. This should be interesting."

She stared at her toes. What could she possibly say? Everything he said, everything he accused her of… was right.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

Zsasz stopped grinning and leaned forward in spite of himself.

"I wish so much it hadn't happened that way." Her words burst out, not to distract him anymore, but because she could no longer hold them back. "I have thought of you every day for the past three _years_, Zsasz. You've never gone away, no matter how much I wanted you to! And I wanted to tell you-"

She looked up. He was staring at her, listening.

"I'm so sorry I tried to kill you, Zsasz. I thought we were going out together. You were surrounded and… I was giving us both salvation. After everything you taught me, it made sense. And I thought you wanted it too. But then…" She drew in a shaky breath. "I-I was such a coward and I didn't want to die alone. And then you died alone instead. And I'm so, so sorry for that!"

His head was lowered. For a moment, she wondered if her apology had gotten through to him.

_Clap! Clap! Clap!_

She heard slow, mocking applause, and his dark laughter rang out. Her heart sank, but what else could she have expected?

"I am impressed. Such a moving tribute!" he exclaimed. "You did better than I expected, little murderess. I'll make your death quick!"

She readied herself to dash forward, to avoid his knives and to fight-

Zsasz stepped out from the shadows.

Mist drifted in the air around him, creating an ethereal halo and making his skin gleam. He looked even more like a ghost in the dim ochre light. A gleeful grin adorned his face and if it weren't for the knives in his hands, raised and ready, his smile would have appeared almost warm. Such familiarity that it left an ache… In spite of herself, the memory burst forth of hugging him, of trailing her fingers along his chest-

Whatever words she would have spoken died in her throat.

"Do you like my knives?"

He took another step forward, relishing her startled reaction—when suddenly, her expression morphed into horror, her eyes rising slowly from his chest to pierce his face. _She isn't looking at my knives,_ he realized. His stomach dropped. _What is she staring at?_

"What are you—"

_"_Zsasz–" she whispered, cutting him off. "What happened to your marks?"

**-/-/-/-/-**


	8. Chapter 7: Angels and Demons

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman. _Bob Kane, Bill Finger, Alan Grant, Norm Breyfogle, Jeff Loeb, Tim Sale, Alan Moore, Paul Dini, Bruce Timm,_ and _all the other fine writers_ of the Batmanverse - I bow to you! :D

**A/N: **4SeasonsChick, Batfangirl773, Trudes193, thank you all so much for the reviews, and thank you Akuma Takeshi Jagerjack for Following/Faving. You guys are the best. :)

This was a challenging chapter to write. If something doesn't make sense or you see any glaring plot holes, please let me know.

-0-

**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Seven: ANGELS AND DEMONS-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

"Zsasz- what happened to your marks?"

The words were there, but they weren't sinking in. The horror remained on the woman's face. Zsasz chanced a glance at his own body.

A slow wail began in his head, the knives slipping from his grasp, though he never heard them fall. That strange feeling he had, that all this time there was something wrong—

He looked down at his skin, cautiously raising an arm.

The feeling you get when the whole world stands still – that was the horrible feeling Zsasz felt all of the sudden. Like the butterflies in his stomach had sped up, only to abruptly die. He felt cold.

As his eyes slowly traced every inch of his own skin and Danielle's words reverberated in his head, a million memories suddenly snapped into place:

_"-I need a new mark!"_

_"I need to make the kill! I can't- waaait!"_

_"He marks his skin with a tally for each victim…"_

_"-Saw him in the Botanic Gardens, no doubt acting out some twisted fantasy-"_

_"EVIL, EVIL, EVIL MONSTER!"_

_"I have marked my skin with your life! My body is a temple dedicated to your memory!"_

_"I have a special spot saved for you. Do you want to see where?"_

_"Zsasz is a maniac. He cut my buddy Ash in places I don't even like to think about…"_

_"-Unrepentant homicidal lunatic, known for tallying his body with scars or 'marks' to represent each kill he makes… Stay away from him when possible, bring backup when you can't-"_

_"OH GOD! OH GOD HE'S GOT BILL! CALL FOR BACKUP!"_

_"Do you like my marks?"_  
_"How many marks do you have, Zsasz?"_  
_"I have 487 marks on my body, Danielle. And soon your collection will rival mine. Let me see them now!"_

"I need to make the mark. It's all I have left…"

-/-/-/-/-

Shaking, he raised a hand to his forehead. _Nothing._

"WHERE ARE MY MARKS?!"

They were gone! All of his marks were gone!

Zsasz doubled over, shivering and shuddering.

Every inch of his skin felt _wrong_. All the victims… everyone he had ever killed… his temple… his life's work… Everything he had built! Everything that mattered to him! All GONE!

He screamed, a chilling feral noise, fingers clawing desperately at his own skin, nails digging into the flesh of his forehead and drawing blood. "What have you done?" he growled, body pitching. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" He swiped the air madly, knife materializing faster than Danielle could see. She took a fearful step back, and Zsasz turned, facing away from her.

"Quit laughing at me! Mocking me in my own head, oh, you will pay for this!" he groaned. "I will find you! I will slice you up until your blood covers my skin from the holes I cut into your body! You-" he took a deep breath before screaming once more: "YOU STOLE MY MARKS!"

Danielle's head spun. _He isn't talking to me._ A chill went up her spine. _Zsasz…is hearing voices? This isn't normal — even for him. Something is seriously wrong. _The compassion - that _wretched_ compassion - was returning. He didn't deserve it, and yet-

She watched with horror and pity as Zsasz continued to shout, clawing at air and skin with his hands.

"Who did this to you?"

Zsasz looked up, and Danielle involuntarily took another step back. A lone drop of blood fell lazily from his forehead from the scratching he had done. His mouth was slack and he looked so…lost… _So much like one of her students._

"Someone did something to you," she spoke with as much courage as she could. "Your marks, whatever voices you're hearing… Something happened to you, didn't it, Zsasz? I've never seen you like this before…"

Zsasz stared blankly at her, his hands moving restlessly over his arms and chest. She tried to calm the agitated man.

"We can figure it out, Zsasz…_Victor._ Just tell me what you remember-"

Abruptly he ran. At first she flinched, thinking he was charging her, expecting to feel cold steel piercing her flesh.

But he ran past her, not touching or looking at her, disappearing into the fog like a ghost. She heard him gasping, almost retching.

_He's out of control. Something bad's going to happen if he goes away._

"Zsasz! Victor! _Victor!_" she called after him. He kept running, too quickly for her.

_If I don't move now, I'll lose him! I can't lose him!_ She snatched up her purse. Her phone clattered to the pavement, but she couldn't stop now, not as she pivoted to follow the man—

WROOoo! WROOoo! WROOoo!

That noise! Where had it come from? Abruptly red and blue lights burst out of the fog.

_The police… Damn it!_ She turned and noticed with frustration that Zsasz was long gone.

"Miss?" the flashlight was too bright on her face.

"Yes, officer?"

"Did you call for police, miss?"

"Yes, officer. I— was attacked. By Victor Zsasz."

The officer exchanged a startled glance with his partner. Suddenly both men looked about to wet themselves.

"A-are you injured? Um, where- where did he go?"

She pointed. "He went that way… But officer…" She remembered the fear in his face, the total terror, and looked sadly down at the pavement. "I don't think he's a threat at the moment."

* * *

_Running… crying in the streets… running to salvation that did not exist… where could he go? He was…lost again… Lost in the fog…!_

_The cold bit, and yet he did not feel it. He was again a blank slate._

_Purposeless._

* * *

A long shadow peered out from behind the grandfather clock. The time read 10:47pm. The air was crisp and foreboding, even indoors. Pale light filtered in from outside; it seemed all of Gotham was concealed within a fog soup, especially here, so close to the seacliffs.

The clock shut with a soft click, and the shadow slipped deeper into the house.

Grand portraits, shimmering gold trophies and trinkets, the faint smell of cloves and roasting turkey – this house could have everything a man would want to steal, but no, it wasn't money or possessions or even food that the mysterious shadowed man wanted… Well, that turkey did smell good, come to think of it…

It grew darker as he moved stealthily down the hallway and further into the house. A floorboard creaked. The shadow paused.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

The ticking of the grandfather clock, loud in the dead silence.

_Good._ The man let out a slow sigh of relief. No one was awake. No one would see him come—

"Darling, is that you?"

The man in the shadows stopped, but before he could conceal himself, the light snapped on and an irritated Selina Wayne stood in the doorway of her bedroom, yawning and scowling. "What are you doing sneaking around in the dark?" she asked as she pulled the man into the light.

Bruce Wayne, her husband, smiled sheepishly.

Catwoman stopped yawning and then gave him an impish grin. Batman felt a blush rising to his cheeks. It seemed that the lady of the house was suddenly in a better mood.

A plate materialized in front of him, laden with sliced turkey, mashed potatoes, and cranberry sauce. "Eat something! Geez, Bruce, you've been out half the night! You weren't here for dinner and look at you!" Perplexed, Batman looked down at himself and then raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Obviously not what I meant…hottie!" Catwoman swatted him playfully, before running her hands over his butt. She leaned close and Batman could smell vanilla and patchouli. He took her in – really took her in – and admired the curves her dark black lingerie brought out. His wife was glamorous, that much was clear – and she had not stolen a single diamond or jewel since he had proposed to her two and a half years ago. She hadn't had to. Though she would have done it anyway for the thrill, she found that being married to Batman, life had afforded her…other thrills.

Catwoman in turn studied Batman. Even unmasked, he carried himself with the same vigilante's poise. He identified more with being Batman than with being Bruce Wayne. She understood – she was the same way. Cupping his cheeks, she couldn't help but notice the fine lines forming around his face. At 42 years young, Batman was aging. He looked so…weary. She tilted her head. He had never been the same, not since the Joker's death.

Even when his body was home, his heart was always out on those streets.

She wished she could join him.

"So, Mr. Big Detective," she scolded, "what was so important that you had to miss Thanksgiving dinner? You know Alfred might not ever forgive you, by the way..."

"It was Calendar Man," her husband rasped, the first words he had spoken since returning home and un-suiting in the Batcave.

"What'd he do this time?" she asked with interest.

"A little stunt with exploding turkeys." He ignored Catwoman's astonishment. "No one was hurt."

"Is it just me, or has he been steadily going more wide-scale?"

"You mean since the good old days when he only murdered a single family on Thanksgiving so he could enjoy their meal?"

"Very funny." She pointed to the plate in his hand. "Eat up, before it gets cold!"

"Where is Helena?"

"Asleep," Catwoman purred. "She took forever to finally go down. Kept asking about 'Daddy'." Her eyes twinkled. "I think you might be her hero."

"Oh?" His eyes softened at the thought of their one-year-old feisty princess. To be honest, he thought she took more after her mother. He pulled Selina close, inhaling her lips with a deep passion, loving her for giving him their daughter, their little family. He heard Selina sigh breathily.

He pulled back gently. "Can I see her?"

Arm and arm, they went down the hallway and into the baby's room. A nightlight cast a slight shadow over the cradle in the center of the room.

An angel lay sleeping among soft blue blankets, one tiny thumb curled against her face, body spread and relaxed. A black cat lay curled up around her tiny feet, fur prickling as she sensed their arrival. Helena's eyelids fluttered gently as Bruce planted a kiss on his daughter's cheek, long black eyelashes rustling. She had her mother's face - though when she was awake, she had her father's crystalline blue eyes.

He looked up to find Catwoman staring at them, her eyes glowing at the display of affection. Together they drew out of the room, closing the door. Selina was still smiling at him in the semi-darkness, and he took a piece of the turkey from the steaming plate. "Not bad! Did Alfred try a new recipe?"

"He's been experimenting with certain spices. He couldn't wait for Christmas to try the cloves…"

"It's perfect! With a hint of mead…"

"Well, the mead was my idea. We were almost out of white wine."

"Odd…"

"We used some of it yesterday. There was a celebration in the office. The merger worked out—"

"You mean you did it?" He could scarcely believe it. "You secured the renewable energy deal with Tate Enterprises?"

"Don't look so shocked! It was like stealing jewelry from a Vreeland!" Catwoman smirked. "The old man put up a fight at first… he was worried about a repeat of his experiences with LexCorp… but I got him in the end."

"How'd you do it?" he grinned. "Your famous charm?"

She shrugged casually. "I told him about WayneFuel's competitive stance against LexEnergy, and also about the Wayne Foundation's many charitable donations to the Avery Mountain Lion Sanctuary. He just about tripped over his expensive shoes to sign the forms!"

"You won him over mentioning the mountain lion preserve?"

"I noticed his name at a wildlife charity event a few weeks back."

Batman shook his head. "Who would have thought? Former oil baron Hiram Tate, renewable energy and wildlife supporter!"

Selina smiled. "And how about you, Mr. Big Detective?" she stepped close to him again, and he involuntarily caught his breath. She trailed a manicured finger down his chest. "How was your night? Aside from your run-in with Julian, I mean?"

His expression became grim. "I had a word with Benito Sobalvarro. He sang like a canary once we spent some quality time together. Seems like the Falcones are starting trouble again in the shipyards."

Catwoman stiffened. "Oh really? Is it the old man or Alberto's operation this time?"

"It's looking like the Roman. I haven't heard any word about Alberto, ever since the altercation he got into with Calendar Man… He's become a ghost."

She rolled her shoulders slowly. "Want me to do some sleuthing?"

"For now I've got this, but I might need your help at some point."

"Well, you just let me know, I would love to sink my claws into that old bas—"

"Selina…" he said softly.

"What?" she tilted her head. "The baby's asleep, I can swear—"

"You know that isn't what I meant."

She sighed. "You know I'm going to have to get involved at some point, right? Me and the old man have unfinished business."

"I get it," he hated seeing her unhappy, even if she was hiding it. "You know I do. You're a strong woman, a strong person—"

"I'm your ally, Batman. And your wife."

"You don't have to impress me. I'm already here for keeps," he smiled. "If you want me to handle your father—"

She shook her head. "Not a chance. Like I said, he and I have unfinished business. Hell, it might even be cathartic…"

He put his hands gently on her shoulders. "I know… and it's your call. The way that Catwoman has been there for Batman so many times… this time, _I'll_ be right beside _you_."

She looked up into his earnest eyes, the eyes of the man she loved, and sighed deeply. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just, after that business with the Holiday killings… and what I found out about him…" She chuckled. "Bet this wasn't what you pictured when you thought of having in-laws, was it?"

"I don't know…" Bruce mused. "I dated a girl once whose father wanted to wipe out most of humanity—"

"Ah yes, the Terrorist," Selina said dryly. Bruce's eyes narrowed ever so subtly. It wasn't because of Rā's, she knew, but rather because of Talia.

Sometimes she wondered… _But no, she must not think that way._ He had chosen her. He could have decided to mourn Talia for the rest of his life, and maybe some part of him always would mourn, would always look back to the night in the Monarch Theatre when the Joker gunned her down, just a second faster than Batman could react. She knew that Talia's death, like so many others', lay heavy on his undeserving conscience. And even though he should never have to bear all that guilt, as she herself had told him many nights... _she would not expect anything different of him._ His love for Talia, for so many other girls, for the Batfamily, for Alfred, for her and Helena, heck even for the Rogues' Gallery in their own weird way… his big heart and compassion was one of the reasons why she loved him so much. He wouldn't be _him_ without it.

Yes. Her husband would always love Talia. But he had chosen her, _Selina,_ and not for the first time. She and Bruce had their own rich history together, even before Talia — she was _no one's _replacement. So long as he never chose Talia's memory, or any of his other girls, over her or their little family, she could live with it.

"Well, 'the Terrorist' hasn't been heard from in four years," Bruce murmured. "I'd say I'm sorry he's dead, but he has a habit of being woken up by his zealots."

"Hopefully if he's out there somewhere, he'll decide to do something more peaceful with his time," she said cheerfully. "Like cultivate bonsai trees."

Bruce chuckled. Selina's heart swelled.

"Come here, darling. Speaking of in-laws… there's something I have to show you." She led him upstairs, to a wing that was slightly dustier than the others. When he saw where they were heading, his jaw tightened subtly, apprehensively. He glanced over into his wife's soft, emerald eyes. There was no malice in her gaze, only understanding. Trusting her, he allowed her to lead him up to the doors of the Wayne Manor Master Bedroom; only then did she let go of his arm.

The Master Bedroom had not been touched in years. Alfred went in there occasionally to dust the photos and make sure the moths stayed away… but Bruce Wayne had never expressed an interest in taking over the old room – the room of his parents.

His mother's dresses still hung in the closets, alongside his father's suits, greying as the years passed. A grand portrait overlooked the room. Bruce knew every detail from memory. He had spent hours in there as a child, weeping quietly on his parents' bed, wishing so much he would open his eyes and it would all have been a dream, and his parents would by lying on either side of him, asleep and safe. But he had never woken up from this horrible dream. It was the same each time.

After a long time, Alfred had learned not to bother him when he was in their room, reliving the memories, grasping out for even a small piece of his mother and father. But when he came out, Alfred was always ready, with some food, maybe a story, and more often than not a photo album or some anecdote about his parents, especially his father, and little Bruce's tears would momentarily dry. _Momentarily…_ Perhaps that was the reason why he had donned the cape and cowl… the memories could never be erased, and they had never really lessened.

His heart was pounding as he grasped the doorknobs and opened the big doors of the bedroom. It took a moment for his eyes to gather in what he was seeing.

A lone candle sat on one of the side tables, flickering, filling the room with the smell of cinnamon. The furniture had been dusted recently, and the picture of his parents looked as mournfully beautiful as ever.

The room was filled with vases of poinsettias.

Bruce's breath caught in his throat again. Beautiful red poinsettias adorned the room, like delicate paper decorations. The biggest bouquets were right next to his parents' pictures, and the deep red added warmth to the portrait, making his parents' faces seem more alive. The flowers were spread all over the mantle, on the small tables and dressers around the room. Hanging over the main mirror was a shining golden star, glittering in the dim light. He blinked for a second, before turning to his wife and affixing her with a serious look.

Selina gulped. Had she angered him? She knew this room was special to him – had she overstepped by coming in here? Had she violated his sanctuary? She had only meant to decorate the room for the holidays, share the festivities and honor the parents-in-law she would never meet. The silence stretched on as Batman stared at her, and his unwavering gaze made her shiver a little. Or what if he wasn't angry at all – what if he was in _agony,_ remembering, having horrible flashbacks? Oh, she should never have meddled—

Bruce grabbed her to him, crushing his chest against hers. She could feel his heart thundering.

"Thank you, Selina…" he whispered.

* * *

Blue eyes opened hazily. Awareness was slow to come, and for a moment, the world remained dark. Was it Thursday or Friday, day or night? The smell of faintly burnt wood reached his nostrils. Wherever he was, the air was cold.

He sat up, groaning. Pieces of wood bit into his back, staining his skin with charcoal and rust. He was lying on a ridge, he realized, a wooden platform long ruined, in a burnt-out shell of a room. The roof had a large hole in it. Fleetingly, he remembered waking up in a similar place, full of fire. Had he survived a fire last night, or the night before? _No…it was a while ago._

He looked down at his skin, but quickly shut his eyes, tears stinging closed lids.

When he opened them again, he was staring into a mirror, and the rings around his eyes were darker than he imagined. How long had it been since he had looked in a mirror? He could only remember seeing his shadowy reflection in the window of the convenience store – on that horrible day when he realized something was wrong, but didn't know _what._

Now, he realized with a sickening lump in his stomach, he wished he had never known. _Ignorance is bliss._

The reflection pouted back at him, soot and dirt streaking his skin, a filthy degenerate lost manchild… without his scars. His skin was dirty, yes, but still naked. Still …markless. Unremarkable.

He cracked a brief smile and winced at how much worse he looked. The sad-eyed reflection… he looked like he needed to cry—

Harshly Zsasz whipped away his head. He. Would. Not. Cry.

_'Pathetic.'_

"Go away," Zsasz murmured.

The wood creaked but did not break as he slid down from the platform. There were the steel doors to the hideout. Holes in the walls, with cars crashed and smashed and broken, the charred sign "Ghost Train" painted on one of the sides… "Are you a ghost?" he whispered. "Are you… _my_ ghost? Sent here to haunt me?"

The Voice did not answer.

Each footstep was like lead, going further into the building. Perhaps a lifetime ago, a man had owned this building, and here he had smelted and forged his dreams. An empire. Until he fell. Zsasz wondered what had happened to ruin him, to leave this golden testament behind, slowly turning to rust. There had been drugs here once, he saw in one of the rooms. So much more… But that was _before_. He cared to know this before, three days ago when he discovered this place. He had been so eager, uncovering the past, like an explorer…

Now, he was consumed with his own loss.

_My marks… I have nothing now. No dreams, no past …no future? Nothing to live for._

_'So melodramatic…'_

The Voice sounded cross. Zsasz felt his teeth clench. _Why? What on Earth does it have to be angry about?_

_'You know that this will set back our plans…' _he could hear it slithering in again, like a snake from the pits of hell. The sense of coldness, of aloneness, deepened in its vile presence …and there was nothing Zsasz could do, but listen to its sinister words. _'So unfortunate. So many people you could be harvesting, and yet you sit here a broken mewling shell of a once-great and ferocious warrior.'_

"What have you done?" His own voice was quiet. It wouldn't do any good to shout. It wouldn't undo what had happened. There was just one question. "You stole my marks… _why?_"

_'It was necessary. In order to become the perfect killer, you needed to lose all ties to this world. Only when you have nothing left to lose, are you truly free.'_

"Free? You stole my marks, you stole my identity! Who are you to do this?"

_'I am your master.'_

"You are the devil!"

_'It was necessary to reset your body, to do away with your…'marks',' _The Voice sneered. _'You needed to make room for more people. Now…'_ It chuckled. _'Now you may refill your body. Or better yet - do away with the compulsion altogether! It will take too long to liberate the world if you must count each and every person you slaughter. Start a new tradition...friend.'_

"What sorcery did you use to steal my marks?!"

Zsasz stood at the top of the stairs, watching as they wound down, further and further into darkness. It was very high up, a full story to the next landing, and two more stories beneath. He took the first step, and his stomach lurched.

_'Imagine… your blade thick with blood, humanity broken and yoked, lying in the dust at your feet. The path to a new world, paved by you, Killer...'_

_Why are there so many stairs?_ The dizziness in his head was getting worse. _Wouldn't it be much easier if I simply leaped down to the bottom, instead of walking each and every wretched step?_

The Voice laughed maliciously.

"They were meant to be remembered," Zsasz sobbed. "Each one of them… I was meant to remember every kill. I **saved** them!" He looked down at his skin frantically. "And now they're gone…"

He stumbled on the next step.

_'Each of them was meant to be forgotten. Humanity is meant to be forgotten!'_

He could hear the roaring of the furnaces across the way, feel the heat wafting through the walls.

_Finally. At the bottom._ The dizziness was killing him now. He barely made it to a crate and slumped down, gasping, trying to make the pain in his stomach recede.

For hours the Voice broke him. He listened… He had no choice. There was no way to make the dreaded intruder go away as it violated his mind. It berated him. Taunted him. Forced him to look down at his body, to see what he had become, what it had taken from him. It gave him a headache with its incessant chattering.

It told the deep dark truth.

He was nothing. Nothing without his marks. Just a tool. His purpose in life lay with the knife.

He tried to sleep. He couldn't. The Voice kept talking.

He tried to stand. The pain in his head and stomach worsened. He lay flat on the ground.

_What is happening to me?_

* * *

Hours, possibly days later, he made it to the phone on the other side of the room. Heart pounding, he dialed her number.

_BRRIIIING! BRRRIIING!- _"Hello?"

He wanted to whisper her name, to seek solace in her, _to kill her._

"Why were you not fast enough, zombie girl?" he slurred, barely able to talk above the pain. "Hunh? If you were sorry as you claimed-"

"Zsasz?" she sounded concerned. "Where are you?"

"You shoved me over a railing, left me to die, let the angry ghosts mutilate me- and then you just- watched… Ahh... You could not figure out what was happening to me in time!"

"Then tell me! What's happening to you? Zsasz!"

"If it weren't for you, I would be walking around happy, slaughtering people, saving people… You. You cost me everything. Danielle… I hate you, Danielle…"

"That's understandable, but listen-!"

"When I feel better, I will find you and bathe in your blood!"

He heard her take a deep breath on the other end of the phone.

"I can tell that whatever you're going through, it isn't normal. I know you're hearing voices, and you must be scared-"

He scoffed.

"You don't have to do this alone, Zsasz! Maybe- Zsasz?"

"I…am listening…"

"I've been thinking about this, ever since… you know, ever since I saw you again. I don't know how or why you lost your marks-" He cringed "Maybe this is divine intervention."

"You think-"

"I know this sounds crazy! You don't even remember how it happened… But maybe you've been given another chance." He nearly gagged at the sickening enthusiasm in her voice. "Your marks are erased… Maybe this means you've been unburdened from your higher purpose, and you can live a normal life again. You- you don't have to choose to do this anymore. You don't have to define yourself by your victims anymore, you can seek out your own meaning! I can help you-"

"Help me? You think- you could help me?"

"I- I want to…" He heard so much foolish yearning in her words. But it was far too late.

"You don't understand," he growled, and then more softly, knowing that his last hope had been extinguished, "You will never understand." He hung up.

_Was she crying?_ he wondered. _Sitting dejectedly by her phone, listening into a blank receiver? _He hoped that moment would haunt her for the rest of her life… however short it would be.

* * *

_I should have worded it better, somehow. Maybe I could have gotten to him._

Hours later, she puttered around her apartment. It was storming outside. The bookshelves were still in front of the window. She regretted it a little; storms were beautiful to watch. Maybe she could open the bathroom window, stick her hand outside, and catch some rain in her fingertips.

"Maybe all his kills finally got to him…" she watched the raindrops trickle down the bathroom window, one by one, collecting and sliding in a rush together. "Could those be the voices he thinks he's hearing - all the people he ever killed?" She bit her lip, looking at the floor. "God…"

Zsasz defined himself by his marks… in a weird way, by his _victims_. She had always thought that they were a way of proving he had power over the people he had killed. Now that his marks were erased, maybe his power over his victims was finally broken. Maybe now they could all rest in peace.

_Maybe now her conscience could rest._

_Goddamn compassion._ How could she ever be free of it, of him? All she had wished for these past three years was that somehow her tormentor could rest in peace, that maybe someday she could accept and overcome the guilt she felt, somehow comfort herself with the thought he would take no more victims. Now he was back… alive. Stripped of his "power", though not his murderous capabilities. Now she had the chance to lay down her guilt, and - what? _She was worried about him now. Oh God._ Her mouth fell open softly.

He must be truly sick to have become what he was… she knew he was. And getting sicker it seemed.

She was relieved when her phone rang, desperately needing a distraction. She knew, somehow, that it wasn't Zsasz. It wouldn't be. He wasn't in a good place right then, and she could tell - that phone call must have taken a lot out of him. Maybe it was her brother…? They had been discussing him moving to Gotham City sometime in the next year. Of course, that was before she found out that Zsasz was still alive-

"Good evening?"

"Hello, Miss Danielle Lee?"

"Speaking."

"This is Commissioner Gordon. Good to hear your voice again. I'm sorry to bother you on a Saturday night but this couldn't wait. I've got some good news."

"What is it?"

"The person who was sending you notes…"

Danielle started. She had completely forgotten about the notes. "…Yes?" she asked cautiously.

"We got him!"

* * *

Within a few minutes of hanging up the phone, he regretted it. For hours and hours, he regretted not staying on the phone with the zombie girl, the smallest dimmest hope he had of staying connected to sanity. He wanted to call her again. But no… he had smothered that hope by his own choice.

And oh, it was lonely. So lonely with only The Voice there for company. Alone, with only a predator, one he knew without reservation wanted nothing more than his agony, his tears, his pain. One who savored it.

It mocked him for what felt like days. It reveled in his loneliness. It told him that it could help, if he would only do exactly as it said.

What was he to do? How was he to escape?

Slowly he realized that the only way to escape The Voice was to play along.

The Voice whispered instructions for him. _Yes, I will follow. _He picked up the knife.

Against the cold, grey, but thankfully dry sky, air fresh and clean from the storm the night before, he left the hideout. He walked speedily through the ghost streets, past thugs with no leader to own them. He wished so much that he could give one of them, any of them, the cursed voice in his head.

He strode up to the grand bridge. The water below was cold and unforgiving. He couldn't help but wonder how long the fall would take if a man were to plunge over the side. Morbid thoughts, but it was hard to keep them out. It was hard to think at all anymore.

He walked upon the bridge, plan in mind, toward his brightly glowing destiny...

**-/-/-/-/-**


	9. Chapter 8: Already Dead

**A/N**: Thank you 4SeasonsChick for the review! :) So true… Zsasz really should have listened. :(

Happy Eclipse Night, everyone! :D

-0-

**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Eight: ALREADY DEAD-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

The grey sky shimmered in the water's reflection. Zsasz peered over the railing. The air was cold and slightly moist, and the wind licked his freshly shaven head appreciatively.

He squinted, angry blue eyes piercing the frigid air, gulping it down as though to stave off the inevitable vertigo. And yet the height afforded him an awful sort of clarity, the kind a man might gain just when he is most desperate and at the end of his rope. The clarity usually given to those right before they venture forth, slipping silently into the great beyond without leaving a trace…

Zsasz looked down at the cold water below.

_A fall from this height would kill a man._ He knew this well.

It would be so _easy_. So easy to jump…

_No._

He wanted to. His despairing soul cried out for relief. An end to his suffering… For _oblivion_.

No.

Relief was a feeling…and he had to be _alive_ in order to feel it.

He was hyper aware of the fluids the rushed through his own organs, gurgling and bubbling, warm in contrast to the coldness outside. He shivered. His body was too eager to cling to its heat, to its mortality. It recoiled at the sight of Gotham Bay far below, betraying his stronger desires to cling to life.

The water sparkled below off the pale sunlight peeking through the grey fog. Dizzying heights… But_ not _today.

There was something poking him in the leg. Yes. _There was another way._

His hand found the knife hidden in the jacket pocket.

His heart thudded. The Voice hummed approvingly.

With a jolt, he kept walking.

* * *

Two men walked in shadow through the GCPD holding cells.

"We caught him by using the security footage in the bottom floor of the hospital. We couldn't make a connection to the first note, but he's the best suspect we've got. We identified him as—"

"Carlito Sobalvarro," Batman finished as he stopped in front of the cell. The balding man looked up. Hard to believe he was Bangin' Benny's _younger_ brother; his face was more wrinkled, but he still had Benito's fierce brown eyes. Standard jail garb replaced the nice grey pinstripe suit he had been wearing on the security footage in the hospital.

"He confessed to leaving the note," Gordon stated. "Though he's being very vague on details. You can question him—"

"You know why I'm here," Batman stepped close to the bars of the cell. "But do you really know why you're here, Sobalvarro, rotting in the same stinking cell block your own brother was in not five days ago?"

"You caught me on security footage, fair an' square," Carlito said smoothly, giving Batman a poker face – impressive, considering the Dark Knight's intimidating stance. "What can I say, leavin' notes, I'm a regular Giacomo Casanova!"

"You do know that if you're convicted of criminal threat, you'll face a minimum of two years in Blackgate, considering they're more likely to charge the crime as a felony. You really wanna do the time for a crime you might not have committed?" Batman gave an exaggerated sigh. "Poetry really isn't your style, Carlito, so who are you working for?"

Carlito smiled, revealing gold teeth. "What's a matter, Bats? Can't believe that beneath my meager exterior, I could be a great poet?"

"Really? Can you recite the note?"

Carlito extended his arms with a flourish: "_'I will begin with this confession: whatever I have done in the course of my life, whether it be good or evil, has been done freely; I am a free agent.' _" He mock-bowed.

"Cute," Batman intoned, turning to Gordon. "Casanova here is lying about the note. He's working for someone."

"I worked alone!" Carlito protested.

"Then why?" Batman pressed.

"Maybe I don't like it when I'm makin' a reasonable business deal and someone pulls some martial arts shit on me? Maybe I'm the innocent victim and that little broad's trainin' people to be killers, man!"

Batman growled. "Commissioner Gordon, would you mind letting me have a word with Sobalvarro, in private?"

"Sure thing," Gordon began to turn away.

"It was because of what you did to my brother!" Carlito blurted out. "He's rotting in Blackgate somewhere, ain't he? Didn't even get a trial, just got sent there on some third strike deal! So what better way to get back at you than to target a cause you probably believe in, huh? I saw you talkin' to the self-defense teacher late one night, and I found out who she was—"

"So for revenge? Interesting theory, but I don't believe you."

"Why not?"

"Your brother wasn't arrested until _after _Danielle Lee had already been given the first note."

Carlito was oddly silent, but the slightest sheen of sweat moistening his forehead gave him away.

"I see your employer sent you in uninformed," Batman said in an offhand, pitying tone. "You didn't even know about the first note, did you? I'll ask you again." His eyes narrowed. "Who. Do. You. Work. For?"

* * *

As Zsasz stepped off the bridge, safe on the other side, he looked around. Blue signs advertising a soda company blinked against the grey sky. Amazingly there were people milling around on the slick streets. What day was it anyway - Sunday? Monday? Why wasn't everyone at home, warm in their beds, or at work, noses to the grindstone?

Which way to go? To the right the streets seemed grittier, darker, and he imagined that neighborhood must have more crime. There were tall apartment buildings, residential areas, and the lights of Gotham General Hospital flickering in the distance. To the left seemed livelier - the streets and stores were lined with red, green, and white lights. Everyone was gearing up for the holidays.

His feet led him left.

A cinema lay ahead, overlooking a social square. A giant fountain with an angel statue stood in the middle of the square, drained and covered.

People wandered through, laughter drifting on the wind, warm jackets with soft hoodies thrown back in joy of the rainless weather. The rich, sugary aroma of hot chocolate wafted over, making him gag. Too much sappiness. So many happy people in their little couples or their little families, while he had no one, no one to come home to but that wretched Voice. People with nothing better to do than wander around, blind and cruel to the people who needed their help, until something horrible befell them. And even then, it was still all about their plight and no one else's. Then for a while, their pain became their meaning until they found their happiness drugs, and so the cycle continued, always racing for something they could never have, while stepping over those who had even less. Unempathetic, plastic ragdolls wandering aimlessly through this world. Had any of them ever crossed a bridge on their own two feet and contemplated what it would be like to fall? Had any of them ever hit rock bottom? He would show them. He would show them all. Soon they would all understand.

He took off his own hoodie, leaving himself exposed and bare-chested. Now he stood out from the crowd. Now he would show them the true meaning of life.

"Little piggies! The time has come to meet your salvation!" Heads snapped up in alarm. A small child dropped his ice cream cone. It looked like strawberry. He always did prefer—what was it? _Cherry._

"Oh God! He's got a knife!"

Finally noticing him, the crowd began to back away.

He gave the terrified people his best smile.

"Soon your meaningless lives with cease and you will enter into a higher plane, freed from your mortal coil and endless suffering, liberated by yours truly!" With a sudden movement, he stabbed a woman in the chest as she tried to rush past him. Blood spurted from her bosom and she collapsed, gasping and moaning. He believed he might have punctured a lung. At least, that's what the gurgling sound would attest to. Several people screamed.

"H-hey, you don't have to do this…" another scared woman took a timid step forward, motioning for her children and husband to stay behind her. One of the kids tried to grab her hand, but she waved him back.

"Really, Mister-"

"Call me _Zsasz!_"

"Mr. Zsasz, you don't have to hurt anyone!"

"Oh, but I do—"

"Look, if you want money—" she held out her hand, wallet in palm. Considering, Zsasz looked at it for a moment, then looked right into her face, a dark, menacing gleam in his eyes, and smiled chillingly.

With a shriek, the terrified woman drew back her hand as Zsasz attempted to stab it. She backed up rapidly, stumbling into her husband, who dragged her out of the way. Only then did she and her family realize that Zsasz had severed her fingertips with his blade. Zsasz savored the look on her face, her mouth hanging open, disbelief slowly blooming, as though the window of illusion before her eyes had finally been shattered.

And then everything became a blur for Zsasz. He was vaguely aware of the movement around him, the people trying to rush away from him, slipping as they tried to escape, even a brave few who tried to fight him. They fell, one by one, clutching various wounds. Some were still after they fell on the bloody streets, eyes wide and unblinking. Both his knives were becoming slick, and he gripped the blades very tightly to avoid losing them.

One by one, he slaughtered them, listening to their screams, which sounded so much like _pigs._

When he blinked, the square was empty. Bodies both dead and alive littered the ground. He counted thirty dead before he lost track.

_'Is that all? Killer, you disappoint me.'_

"Shut up," he whispered furiously, his high quelled slightly by the abominable _thing_ in his head. "These people are all liberated. I did my work! I did this work for my higher power, not for you—!"

_'Surely I trained you better than this,'_ The Voice condescended. _'Wait until the police arrive. I want the stones of this square to run red with the blood of humanity, pouring out and making way for something better!'_

"But you said—" Zsasz trailed off as he looked down at his arms. They were devoid of scars still. He looked at the strewn bodies. The thought that came next had him gasping and clutching his chest in swift, painful apprehension.

How would he know where to mark? He needed to know which spots were already taken!

Panicked, he ran his fingers across his skin, smearing it. **_He needed to remake all the marks!_** He must reclaim every single person he could remember before he could even _think_ of adding more people to his roadmap. But to do this would take hours! He needed to start now!

His hand moved instinctively. The blade cut deep. Barely pausing, Zsasz removed it and plunged it in again. _Yes, surely this is right. I feel like these two spots were marked. I—can almost remember who was here! Surely, now that they are in my flesh, now I will recall who they were!_ The knife ran slick. One tally of five complete. The pain was searing in his arm. Had he ever made this many marks in one day? He must have!

_Slash! Slash! Slash! Slash! Slash!_ Another complete tally made, five liberated people memorialized in his temple.

Zsasz was gasping, eyes wild, shivering with his exertions.

_'Ruining my handiwork, Killer? I had made your body into a blank slate that you might fill it again, with more lost souls—'_

"Shut up!" he said aloud. "I will never forget the people who were here!" His voice grew higher. "You will not take them from me!"

_'You are weak. You do not have what it takes to liberate the whole world. You must cleanse your temple, time and again, the way the ocean cleanses the sands of the beach.'_

"You're NOT HELPING!"

_'Why not? You never were a big thinker. Moving, idly, from target to target, following your impulses. Fortunate you are as I guide you on your sacred mission.'_

"Shut UP! You're not even real. You're just a ghost of reality residing in my head."

_'Poetic…but pathetic. I'm as real as the scars on your body, Victor Zsasz. Oh wait…'_ The Voice laughed cruelly.

Zsasz's knuckles went white.

"I'll show you what's real!" he growled, and without waiting for a reply, plunged the knife into his flesh once again, deeper than the other times, hissing as he threw back his head in pain and ecstasy.

_This spot was for a—a banker. That was it! This banker I liberated when we crossed paths in a café. Everyone else was watching the news about one of my kills, a recipient of my work, and this man would not look up from his laptop! Crunching numbers, counting his meaningless money… And for what? His kids, his wife, his retirement? Well, I made that wish come true for him early. His family got their reward, their investment, when they found him at his bank, propped up behind the third teller counter from the door. Ahh, it feels good to remember—!_ His skin was itching. More memories, more marks were coming out. He grinned in anticipation.

"You don't know me or my work," he gloated. "How could you ever appreciate my work?"

_'I know you better than you think.'_

The world pitched suddenly. Astonished, he looked at his arms. Crimson slashmarks everywhere. It was beautiful. Blood poured from his wounds, making a soft patter onto the cobblestones beneath his boots.

Suddenly, the night he escaped from the underground labyrinth came to mind— He remembered running, over these same stones. Confusion set in. Had The Voice been with him even then, helping him escape?

There were more marks to make. There were four very important marks he needed to do before he could do any more. As he raised a hand, the world pitched again and he found himself on his knees, looking into the eyes of a dead woman. His stomach lurched wildly. _What is happening to me?_

He tried again, but his arm wouldn't work. How strange—One knife clattered to the ground. He used both hands to steady the other knife, raising it to his forehead. Then, sudden blackness. He was still there in the world, he was sure of it, but he couldn't see…

Had he succeeded? When he felt the warm blood rush down his face and across his eyes, he knew he had. And there were sirens. He could hear them, as if from far away. His head struck the pavement. Too late now to escape.

_No matter… He felt so woozy…_

Maybe when he woke up, he could chew out The Voice for failing to warn him. Wasn't The Voice supposed to be all about self-preservation?

Zsasz blacked out seconds before the first officers made it on the scene, the site of a cold-blooded massacre.

* * *

The sound of a lone chickadee filtered through the air. The fog had cleared and now the sky was unusually sunny for winter, warm enough to go without sleeves, and Danielle and Mrs. Phillips were delighted by it.

"I admit, dear child, I have never enjoyed a tea party here before."

"Isn't it perfect? No one comes here, there are nice benches to sit on—"

"And the flowers smell divine," the old secretary leaned forward slightly to smell a sprig of lavender blossoms.

Almost no one in the hospital remembered the small courtyard just outside of Danielle's self-defense clinic. It was only accessible from the bottom floor, and the sun only shone in it at certain times of day. In the center area was a raised bed filled with herbs and flowers, surrounding a bronze statue of a doctor holding up a stethoscope. The memorial plaque read: 'In Esteemed Memory of Dr. Thomas Wayne, Colleague, Mentor, and Friend.' Four benches surrounded the stonework around the bed. Danielle and Mrs. Phillips sat quietly in the sunlight and the self-defense instructor pulled out a thermos from her backpack, as well as two teacups.

"Oh, dear, you didn't have to bring the good china! I'm sure a cardboard cup from the café would have sufficed—"

"Nonsense! It's Monday and we need to start the week off right!" Danielle replied cheerfully, pouring some green tea. Mrs. Phillips sipped thoughtfully.

"You missed a fantastic Thanksgiving dinner, my dear."

Danielle hunched guiltily. She had woken up Thursday morning still reeling from her confrontation with Zsasz, and ultimately she had felt too chaotic to be social. "Well, there's always Christmas."

"And we will hold you to that! Cindy was most worried about you. She mentioned you were finding yourself in a spot of bother, but she didn't elaborate."

_Sweet Cindy. Always trying to look out for her privacy. And no doubt trying to keep Mrs. Phillips from worrying as well._ "Don't worry, I'm handling it OK."

The two women sat in silence for a long moment.

"Think it's getting warmer each year?" Danielle mused.

Mrs. Phillips paused before allowing the change of subject. "A few years ago, it was one of the coldest winters we had ever seen. At the time, everyone blamed Mr. Freeze. He was in Arkham City, you know…"

As Mrs. Phillips chatted on, Danielle's mind went back to the news she had received from Commissioner Gordon the other night. So they had caught the Note Writer. Her students were safe. Yet she felt an unease she hadn't before… Should she have shut down the classes? What right had she had to put her students in danger? What if the Note Writer hadn't been caught - what if a student of hers had been attacked, or even killed? Even now, she wasn't sure what the right answer was. She opened her mouth to ask Mrs. Phillips her opinion.

"—But my dear, the most miraculous thing is that since the Arkham City days, our people now have more hope. They didn't have it for so long, you know. The Joker's passing changed many things… but I think they needed more than just one less maniac. The people need their self-confidence back… and I think your class gave them those tools."

Danielle promptly shut her mouth.

"Not everyone in Gotham City might have taken your class just yet, but the more that people talk about it and hear about it, the more people think of saving themselves." Mrs. Phillips took off her glasses and wiped her eyes. "To me, dearest Danielle, that is a feat on par with the Batman's. I'm so very proud of you."

A surge of warmth filled her heart. Mrs. Phillips had believed in their mission longer than anyone – she was the one who made it possible! Where would she be, where would any of them be, without Mrs. Phillips?

She sighed. "You know, our mission was almost destroyed." Off Mrs. Phillips' questioning look, "There was someone who was leaving me notes, threatening the classes. The police only recently caught him, but for a while we were scared…scared we were going to have to shut down the classes…"

Mrs. Phillips blinked and then leaned forward slightly. "A person was…writing threatening notes, you say?"

"Yes…I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner." She winced guiltily. "There is something else I have to tell you-"

Mrs. Phillips looked alarmed. "Can you tell me more about the note writer first-?"

"I will." _He's not the immediate danger anymore._ "But first-"

A crackling sound interrupted them. Danielle sighed. Mrs. Phillips pulled the portable radio out of her bag. Even though one of the guards could take over her desk duties temporarily when she took a break, she always carried her radio with her during her shifts.

"This is Mrs. Valerie Phillips, standing by."

"All assistance is needed at the front," crackled the voice on the other end. "There is a large influx of emergency patients at the ER and morgue, all casualties of one suspect Mr. Zsasz. We are uncertain of suspect's whereabouts. Family members might begin arriving shortly, we need all assistance at the front, do you copy?"

"I copy and I shall return promptly, over." Mrs. Phillips stood up and looked worriedly at her. "Come and see me later today, my dear," she said, swiftly gathering her possessions. "There is something important I must ask you-"

Danielle was on her feet as well. The secretary looked confused.

_"Zsasz!"_ the young woman hissed.

* * *

The ambulances were already clogging the emergency entrance to Gotham General. She counted twenty before she lost track. Off to the sides, the paparazzi were waging a small, losing battle against the security guards. At least Vicki Vale wasn't there - she was probably at the crime scene itself. From the questions she heard the paparazzi asking, it was clear what had happened: Zsasz had gone on a rampage at Gotham Square. Her heart plummeted: she remembered a certain "date" they had gone on there, once upon a time, where he had threatened to slaughter everyone in sight if she made a sound. "He actually did it," she whispered, horrified. "He went back to Gotham Square and…and…"

She thought of the beautiful angel fountain, now spattered with blood. Dozens of people had paid the price. And now like buzzards, the press wanted to record the devastation first-hand, get the juicy story as the victims barely clung to life. She turned her head away disgustedly.

A half hour later, the ambulances stopped arriving. She knew that soon enough, the unmarked vans would begin to arrive at the hospital, but they would be driving to a different more hidden entrance - to the morgue.

In a daze, she shuffled inside the hospital to the indoors entrance that led to the emergency room.

She knew that she shouldn't be in here, that she was possibly getting in the way. But she had to see… She had to see what Zsasz had done. She pinned her hospital ID high on her shirt.

The medical crew was working as fast as they could. There were so many people! The onsite EMT had done the best they could, but there were so many in critical condition, and the line to the operating room was too long…

The people around her - she knew that these were the ones who were _not_ the worst off, and that knowledge made her nauseous. There was a woman in front of her. Her hand was bandaged, with blood seeping though the fingertips. There was also a bandage over one eye. Her other eye opened weakly and she regarded Danielle silently, but pleadingly.

She had never seen another victim of Zsasz before.

The women looked at each other. One lying on a gurney, blood seeping through her clothes, clinging to life. The other filled with so much guilt, a scarred survivor - a _failure_. She could have saved this woman and everyone in this room, if only she had killed Victor Zsasz.

She came to stand by the woman and tentatively put her hand on her shoulder. The woman closed her eye in relief. Danielle stood next to her until a nurse came to tend to her.

There was a line of gurneys heading for the ICU. She looked slowly down at the victims' faces. Children, men, women. Zsasz really was indiscriminate-

She gasped.

The first patient in line was...

"You bastard," she whispered.

* * *

For the longest time, she stood there. It was _surreal._

All this carnage surrounded them. All caused by one man.

And where was that man? Why, he was here, among the sea of people he had wounded and mutilated and attempted to murder, sleeping peacefully and painlessly with bandages on his arms and head, without a care in the world. Without restraints even! She half expected him to sit up, right here and now, knives somehow in hand, and continue what he had obviously started.

She gritted her teeth so hard she was sure she would break them.

_I should kill you,_ she thought to herself. _No more promises, no more sympathy for you. I could do it right here… I could even let it slip to some of the families that the killer is in the hospital, see how long you last then._

She clenched her fists as she glanced around the room, finally spying a pillow.

Grabbing it, she turned around - only to realize that Zsasz was gone! "Huh?!"

The doors leading to ICU were swinging. The nurses were wheeling him away.

Angrily she put down the pillow and stormed out of the ER, ignoring the nurses who looked irritably in her direction.

She caught up to Zsasz's gurney.

"Nurse," she hissed. "Nurse!"

The nurse with the paperwork whipped her head around, looking harried. "I need to ask you to leave at once, ma'am, we're in the middle of an emergency transport!"

"I need you to get security at once!" Danielle panted, leaning closer to the nurse, who opened her mouth to do just that - only for _her_. "I can identify this man as Victor Zsasz, the criminal who did all this!"

The nurse stopped. The technicians guiding the gurney paused, though they couldn't hear what she said.

"Shh! Don't tell anyone. There could be a panic. Just please! Get me security!"

The nurse promptly took out her radio and discretely hailed security. Then she gave Danielle a look and motioned for her to follow them.

As Zsasz was guided into the hallway of the ICU wing, the nurse pulled Danielle aside.

"Now I'll have you know that misidentifying him would cause serious problems!" she scrutinized Danielle's hospital badge. "Are you sure that this man is who you think he is?"

"Yes. I saw him five days ago. I am prepared to testify that this is that man."

"I will need to obtain his medical records. Security will be here shortly. You will need to make a report with them." The nurse walked away hurriedly, leaving her alone with Zsasz.

She looked down – and got quite a scare.

Zsasz's eyes were open. Immediately she raised her fists.

Zsasz didn't move. He was looking at her unblinkingly. She couldn't tell if he was awake or not, but it seemed like he was staring intently at her neck. As she watched him, slowly his eyes closed again, and his deep breathing resumed.

She exhaled shakily.

"I can't believe it…" she murmured.

"What can't you believe?" she spun around, only to find Batman staring intently at her.

_How did he get here?_

"I found Zsasz's blood at the crime scene," he said, answering her unspoken question. "There was a lot of it, but there were no reports on finding him. I doubted he escaped, not with that much blood loss. My search led me here…" He looked down at the unconscious man. "I see my instincts were right." He came closer. "Amazing…"

"You mean his marks?"

"His lack of them."

"Yeah… I can't believe he's back…" she said, finally answering his question, "alive."

"You have thought, all this time, that you had killed him, and really he's just been hiding out," Batman nodded. "You must feel a great weight has lifted off of you, to not be a murderer after all."

Her eyes darkened as she remembered what she had seen in the ER. "Right now, I almost wish I had been one."

She felt a gauntleted hand on her shoulder. "The police will handle him now. There will be justice for those people, and for you. The nightmare is over, Danielle."

She smiled gratefully at Batman. Then, with anger and sadness, she looked down at Zsasz again.

"Even losing his mind, his memory, and his marks, he still turned out to be a murdering bastard," she said softly.

"What?"

"When I saw him on Wednesday—"

"You saw him before now?" Batman grabbed her arm and pulled her away from Zsasz, into a corner of the hallway. He turned Danielle to face him.

"Explain."

"He attacked me on my way home from training. There was something wrong with him. He…he didn't remember things. He didn't know he was missing his scars until I told him."

"_What?_"

"He didn't even remember _having them in the first place_ until I asked why they were gone."

_Something is even less right than usual. _Batman narrowed his eyes and then strode away quickly, cape swirling. "I need to check something out."

When she caught up, he was asking the attending nurse for Zsasz's paperwork. The original nurse still had not returned, nor had the security guards arrived. She tried to see around Batman's massive shoulders. 'Age: unknown, early 30s.'_ No, he would be 40 now. He was 37 when I saw him last. '_Patient has 12 fresh lacerations on his body, ten organized in tallies, large gash on forehead. No other distinguishing marks.' Batman was asking for bloodwork in a hushed tone. When the nurse shook her head, he moved forward, personal equipment in hand. The syringe slipped softly into Zsasz's arm. When the vial was full, he put it in his utility belt.

"I need to analyze Zsasz's blood. Danielle, make sure you head back to your office. You're needed there, and you shouldn't spend too much time around this man." Reluctantly Danielle left, sparing one last glance at her former tormentor. "Nurse, make sure this patient is restrained and use the utmost care in handling him. He's dangerous even when he's unconscious." He briefly remembered a certain incident at Leslie Thompkins' clinic and suppressed an internal shudder. "Call the GCPD and they'll send someone to keep an eye on him. When he's discharged, he's going back to Arkham!"

* * *

She walked back to the office, lead in her step, itching in her fingers and fists and head. _That murderer is upstairs…and I just walked away from him. I turned my back on him!_ Another thought warred with her. _He cut himself up… He wanted his marks back so badly… He's sick! He needs serious help!_

Disgusted by her traitorous thoughts, Danielle shoved the door open roughly. Only then did she stop, suddenly nervous. She had been avoiding her office since last week, since she had found the second note. The little ditty chilled her blood.

The air in her office felt sinister somehow. Was it just her imagination? No… It seemed… Had her papers been moved?

_This is ridiculous. There won't be a note here. They caught him. They said they—_

She turned on the lights. And breathed a sigh of relief. Her papers on her desk were fine. Nothing looked amiss—

She grabbed her purse and fled.

…Except that _this _time, the note was on her _chair_ instead of on her desk.

* * *

"Dr. Murphy?" Nurse Wilson called out. "Dr. Murphy, I think you're going to want to see this…"

"What is it?" asked the handsome doctor. His piercing blue eyes locked onto the back of Zsasz's shaved head.

"Right here, doctor. Just beneath the skin…"

Dr. Murphy put on his glasses and leaned in closer.

"Please hand me the scalpel, Fiona…"

He teased the skin carefully, not wanting to disturb the sleeping man. The patient was thoroughly sedated anyway. But perhaps the man wouldn't be thrilled if he left an unnecessary scar. He didn't want a lawsuit.

Nurse Wilson gasped. The doctor frowned at the metal object resting on the fingertip of his blood-stained latex glove.

"Can you please take this to the laboratory. I want them to take a closer look, but…"

The metal blinked red at them.

"…It looks like a tracking beacon."

* * *

She stood in the doorway of her office again, shaking, purse dropped on the floor. There was no avoiding it. Nothing she could do. It was already there… and she knew she had no choice but to read it. With shaking hands, she opened the note…

**_Final warning I now send…_**

**_Endings will begin to end!_**

**_A second note you chose to pass,_**

**_Reckless are you with your class!_**

**_Goody Greta learned the twist,_**

**_As will you if your persist –_**

**_Soon you will be sorely missed._**

"Oh my god! No! Greta!"

Her fingers dialed as fast as they could. She could hear her own harsh breathing as the receiver began to grow clammy. _Pick up! Please, for the love of God, pick up!_

"Hello, police dispatch?"

"Hello! This is Danielle Lee, GCGH employee and self-defense teacher. One of my students is in immediate danger! Send help!"

* * *

Lights blared across the city. In the police cars sat grim-faced men and women, uniformed and suited up, always at the ready for the worst. As soon as the first cruiser screeched to a halt, police ran up the stairs of 29 Marsh Street.

_TAA TAA TAA!_

"Ma'am! Hello, Miss Greta Byrney, are you inside?" No answer.

_BAM!_ The door flew back, splintered wood flying through the air. Police rushed in, flashlight bouncing off the walls in the darkened apartment.

A nightstand tottered. Police spun around. A startled scream. "Stand down!"

Two kids hid behind the bed, scared eyes reflecting in the light. The older boy clutched his little sister closer, tears sparkling in tiny eyes. One officer ran forward. "Honey, where's your mama?" The little girl pointed, and the officers turned in the direction of the bathroom.

One brave officer stepped forward, cracked the door open just a bit. A lifeless hand fell into the hallway. No pulse. Another officer silently turned the newly orphaned kids' heads away as they sobbed.

Horror of all horrors. _No child should have to witness this._

* * *

Blue eyes fluttered open.

_Am I dead?_

White ceiling. White sheets. The smell of anesthetic. No mistaking it – _I am in a disgusting hospital._

It felt like his head had been hit with a buzz saw. Or possibly an anvil. In spite of the pain, he froze, cautious not to make a sound.

He moved his hands subtly. _Of course…_ He was tied to the hospital bed. _They would be cautious, wouldn't they?_

_I remember. I killed. I spilled blood in the streets… And I tried to recreate my marks. My body isn't used to pain anymore, not like it was before. I will need to go slowly the next time I endeavor to recreate my great work— Wait..._

The thought was slow to infiltrate.

The buzzing in his head, the confusion, The Voice… _it was gone. The evil Voice was gone! At last!_

And all his memories… yes...

All his memories had returned, neatly filed, fully functional, _and not a moment out of place_.

A predatory smile blossomed across his face.

_Victor Zsasz is back!_

* * *

The computer in the Batcave beeped, and a cowled head looked up. _'ANALYSIS COMPLETE.'_ Batman pressed a button, and then the picture all came together.

Strange, rapidly reversing memory loss. The absence of scars or other blemishes. The miscalculated age. _The unusual compound floating in Zsasz's bloodstream…_

Only one thing made sense, but…

"It can't be!"

"Batman!"

"Oracle! What is it?"

"There's been a crime." _Another one? This has been a busy day, hasn't it?_ "I think you're going to want to investigate this one."

"Where is it?" he asked, pushing a button on the Batcomputer and turning it on standby.

"According to current reports, there's a crime scene set up at one Greta Byrney's house, 29 Marsh Street." Oracle continued as Batman made his way to the Batmobile. "It's unusual because there were no marks on her body, no obvious cause of death. Her two kids were there when it happened. But that's not the strangest part… She was one of Danielle Lee's students, even though she quit the class a few weeks ago. In fact, the call to the police came from Ms. Lee's office."

"Did she get a third note?"

"How did you-"

"I'm on my way."

* * *

Ten minutes later he arrived at the newest crime scene, still suited up, mind whirring. The van containing the victim's body had already left, but police were still all over the scene, red and blue lights flashing. He saw two kids - newly orphaned - talking to a social worker, huddled together. His stomach wrenched unpleasantly, followed by a surge of hatred for the Note Writer. Two more victims, two more children with their innocence and childhood stolen. He made a note to himself to talk to Leslie Thompkins and ask her to follow up with the social worker, check on the children's well being.

He saw a head of brown hair, a young woman leaning against a police car, tears streaming down her cheeks - his second time seeing her today. _Danielle_. She came, no doubt out of guilt. Her eyes were on the children as well, and he could see silent sobs wracking her. He approached her wordlessly. She looked up, and he read so much guilt in her eyes. First the dozens of victims in the Emergency Room…and now _this_. She was blaming herself for things she couldn't control; she was a lot like him in that way.

_Her classes._ He knew that her classes would be shut down at the soonest opportunity. He also knew, from the gut-wrenching gaze she was giving the two orphans, that this was the least of her worries right then.

She held up a paper silently. The third note. The one that had tipped her off to Greta's death. Her mouth opened, but no words escaped.

He took the note from her, gave her a soft nod. Her eyes immediately went back to the two children.

He pulled out a small plastic bag, preparing to contain the evidence. The top of the page fell open. He paused, reading the note, looking desperately for some sort of clue, some way to avenge those poor children.

"Final warning I now send / Endings will begin to end / A second note you chose to pass..."

"Oh my God." He stared at the note in astonishment. There it was. All along, the clues had been staring him in the face. It was so obvious!

He walked swiftly away from the police cars and tuned his cowl into Barbara's frequency.

"Oracle! I'm at the crime scene for Greta Byrney right now. I've just read a third note from our mystery killer. I need you to do something for me."

"What is it?"

"Contact Dr. Kellerman at Arkham Asylum for me. I need him to send me some files."

Her voice crackled on the com. "What are you going to do?"

"I am going to arrange an autopsy with your father to examine Ms. Byrney's body… I think I know what killed her."

"You do? Do you actually know who this son of a bitch is?"

"Yes, I do. It's—"

_**-/-/-/-/-**_


	10. Chapter 9: The Sprang Bridge Again

This chapter is dedicated to my friend, Trudes193! :D Shout-out to you, my friend, and thank you for everything! :)

Thank you Lapetitepivione and Arkami for Following/Favoriting, and thank you 4SeasonsChick and Batfangirl7773 for reviewing! :D I love your guesses! Hopefully you'll find out next chapter who the mystery Note Writer is… Hehehe… It's killing me not to give it away! ;)

So sorry for taking so long to update! I am rewriting some of the earlier chapters to make them flow better, but that doesn't change the plot line at all. Might update them later… But for now, on with the story!

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman nor Zsasz. Please don't stab me, Zsasz!

-0-

**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Nine: THE SPRANG BRIDGE AGAIN-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

"I swear, if Dr. Murphy reminds me _one more time_ about bedside manner, I'll stick this thermometer up his—"

It had been a _long_ shift for Nurse Carrie McClune. Ever since the business yesterday with the Gotham Square Massacre, the scheduling was haywire. Several staff members had taken sudden sick leave, and she learned only later that two of the victims in the square had been fellow staff. Not surprising. The Square was about ten blocks away from the hospital. The two victims had been there on a break, enjoying the hot chocolate. She lowered her eyes briefly, before sucking in a breath and grabbing the next patient's chart.

She had been on shift for 15 hours, a double shift since ICU was temporarily short-staffed. One more hour to go.

"God, what I wouldn't give for a bath… Mmm, hot lilac bath..." she sighed, adjusting her uniform. "Hot water soaking through my bones…" Ahhh, she could almost smell the steam now. She wondered briefly how badly she would prune if she happened to fall asleep in the tub. Her body wavered in protest. "Goddamnit!" Nurse McClune groaned. "I can taste the end of my shift, but dammit all if I don't have more patients!" She hit her head lightly with the clipboard. "Not— allowed— to sleep— on the— job!" One of the male nurses Marty passed by, giving her a look, and she smiled wearily.

Glancing down at the chart, she saw that this patient was being watched for a concussion risk, in addition to the numerous lacerations on his body. He was a John Doe, an unidentified victim and survivor of the massacre yesterday. He had been displaying signs of disorientation 15 hours ago, and a small chip had been removed from the back of his head. She sighed. _One hour left._

Dr. Murphy approached down the hallway, consulting with Nurse Wilson. As Nurse McClune passed them, Dr. Murphy glanced up from his conversation, piercing her with his blue eyes. When she told him that she was checking on John Doe #3 and evaluating him for further concussion risks, he promised to join her in 15 minutes. She groaned. _Asshole._

She knocked before entering, as was customary. She was careful to knock quietly, knowing that the patient was still recovering—

Nurse McClune never finished her thought.

She saw it, as if in slow motion, and her mind was equally slow to understand. The bodies of two RNs lay spread on the ground, blood beneath them pooling over the sanitized hospital floors. Mouths open in silent screams. Nurse McClune stared in disbelief. _Monica…? James…? _They weren't moving! How had this happened?! Her eyes swept the room for the phone—

And then she saw _him_.

A man was standing in the shadows of the room, his back to her, hospital gown parted, revealing a tattoo – a hooded figure surrounded by knives. He was the patient she had been coming to see.

Even as she reached for the door handle, John Doe #3 turned. And what she saw terrified her. Manic glee, almost childlike, but with a darkness that cut her to the core. A scream rose in her throat. She had no doubt then that he had murdered Monica Gonzales and James Smith, her _friends_, in cold blood. This was no man. This was the devil!

An unholy fear washed through her, freezing her to the spot, even as every muscle in her body screamed at her to run.

Then the killer looked up, right into her eyes, and he smiled, head shaking softly, and his smile was so damn _cold_.

**_Wham!_** The force of the blow blew her backward into the wall, head slamming against the plaster. Blood dripped onto her uniform, shed by the scalpel protruding from her eye socket. Nurse Carrie McClune slumped to the ground and lay still.

Zsasz stretched lazily. Ahh yes, there was something so very satisfying about throwing the blade, different from his usual preference of stabbing them personally. When he threw the knives, his quarries had such amusing expressions on their faces as they died. "Shift's over, little piggy," he spoke disdainfully to the dead woman. "This time, the patient has cured _you, _once and for all."

At leisure he ambled over, pulling the scalpel from her eye and swiping the blade across his skin – making the mark.

"It has been too long. So long since my mind was my own. And making the mark has never been sweeter." He gazed ecstatically at the three victims. Oh, it would be fun to _pose_ them finally… The Voice couldn't stop him now. And now that his mind was clear, he knew exactly whose voice he had been hearing. His lip curled disdainfully.

He would just as soon throw that _monster_ off the Sprang Bridge a hundred times, and it would be more than he deserved. But - and Zsasz shuddered to admit it - his foe was too strong. If he wanted his revenge on the menace who had held his mind hostage, he would need a very good strategy.

But enough on that! He would make plans later. Now was the time for being _impulsive!_

He undressed the male nurse, a Mr. James Smith by his nameplate. The clothes underneath the scrubs were a little big, but they would do in a pinch. Zsasz left the nurse in his own hospital gown, propped against the pillows of the patient's bed, speculum in hand. He posed the second victim, Nurse Monica Gonzales, leaning over him, listening for a heartbeat with the stethoscope. He smiled mirthlessly. They'd never find one.

He lifted up the third nurse, his most recent victim, and propped her against the sink, dead hand on the faucet.

Just a quick step out the door, and he would escape. Without his distinctive scars and covered head to toe in green hospital scrubs, he would blend in. He _could_ just go out the window, but he wasn't fond of the thought of falling. He had done enough of that to last a lifetime.

Through the front door. Through the crowded hallways. The schedule was helter-skelter, and he wasn't stopped. If he had been - well, he would not have hesitated to rip them all to shreds. The bloody scalpel lay comfortably in his left hand. And if security had come? He chuckled. He wasn't afraid. _He no longer feared death._

"Oh, my dearest Danielle…" he smiled, and there was so much _wickedness_ in it. "Absence truly makes the heart grow fonder."

* * *

"Greta Byrney passed away this weekend," Danielle faced her class solemnly, tears streaming down her face. "All of you knew her, I believe. She was one of our most dedicated students." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "She was found in her home yesterday. We believe it was intentional and not accidental."

Her students' expressions broke her heart further. Becky was unabashedly crying. Lloyd, the big teddy-bear-looking man, was standing near her, trying to comfort her, his face screwed up with pain. Cecil's eyes were shut. Scott was shaking, while Sarah stared at the ground. Theodore was staring at her with determination and sorrow. She stared back, taking momentary strength from Theodore's expression. He didn't blame her. Maybe he should.

Monica was absent. Maybe she was overbooked - she usually worked in ICU here at Gotham General, and Danielle knew that the nurses were extra busy after the mess Zsasz had caused. Maybe she would go upstairs to deliver the news personally.

"I'm letting you know that this class will be cancelled indefinitely." She ignored the gasps and continued. "Police evidence indicates that—that Greta was targeted because of her enrollment in my class. They believe she was murdered… though there were no obvious causes of death. _I cannot and will not let any of you remain at risk._ We are shutting down all self-defense classes until further notice."

"What?" Scott's mouth was hanging open, incredulity and anger on his face. "You can't just shut these classes down! We need you! Without you, we're sitting ducks!"

"This class is the first time I've felt confident in my life!" Becky protested. "I finally learned how to stand up to my stupid uncle, and now this? If someone's going to attack us, then we need to defend ourselves!"

"Greta didn't have a chance!" Cecil joined in. "She quit because of the threat, and this guy still went after her, even though she wasn't even taking the classes anymore! What chance do the rest of us have on our own?! We've got to stick together! Who knows how many more of us he could go after?"

"Yeah!" There were other expressions of outrage.

"The whole reason why you would be targeted is because I did not give up teaching the class," Danielle said quietly. "The…the suspected murderer left another note, demanding we shut down classes." She chose not to tell them that it was, in fact, the third note, not the second. _Why? Because of cowardice? Is that why I'm not telling them? I don't want them to know so that I can't see the blame in their eyes, that if I'd stopped the classes sooner, then Greta would still be alive? Hypocrite! You're the one who's supposed to be strong!_ She shook her head, trying to ignore the internal, all-too-truthful voice.

"So that's it?!" Scott stared at her with such betrayal on his face – such fear. Danielle hung her head. Tears stung her eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

The discussion did not last much longer than that. The class ended with sadness lingering in the air. Several of her students came and hugged her. Becky sobbed on her shoulder, and Danielle stroked her hair. Near the door, she saw Cecil holding out a notebook with his good hand, asking everyone for their numbers - _trying to look after everyone on his own_. _That's right, _she remembered. _His greatest fear was seeing it happen to a friend, and not being able to do anything about it, not being a good enough friend to even know about it …and here he is, facing his fears. Making sure it doesn't happen again._

Her students were still growing, still being brave no matter what she was doing herself - no matter how much of a failure she was. It killed her, feeling her students slip away. Killed her, like a mother watching her children leave the nest. She wanted to keep them. _But_, the tiny voice inside her whispered, _this way, they might stay alive and safe. Our "home" isn't safe anymore._

When she was sure her students were gone, Danielle buried her head in her hands and wept softly.

She didn't notice Theodore, who hadn't said a word, standing in the doorway watching her, the gleam of determination still in his eyes.

* * *

The green scrubs lay in the bushes outside the hospital, as discarded as their owner. Zsasz walked slowly, feeling the coldness of Gotham air on his skin. _Ahhh, at last._ It had been too _long. _The early chill of December - December 2nd, according to the paperwork the dead RNs had been carrying. Where had the time gone?

Nothing had changed.

The drizzle was a distant patter, and it seemed to his eyes that the drops became darker and thicker as he watched the zombies exiting the hospital. Their eyes- He caught a glimpse inside someone's eyes. The emptiness there sickened him.

The zombie lurched out from under the awning, blinking, startled when one of the thicker drops hit him. He opened his umbrella… Zsasz could see clearly from where he was standing that the startled zombie had a drop of blood running down his cheek - but the zombie didn't seem to realize it. He didn't know he was already dead. They all were. A scream nearly rose in Zsasz's throat, along with bile. Surrounded! In a sea of zombies holding up umbrellas, dark against the grey sky, to protect against the viscous blood that rained down. Blood rushing into the gutters of the grey streets, the sewers belching blood and filth - perhaps the Voice had had a point - the scum of humanity infected him. Black umbrellas everywhere, as if that alone could protect them from themselves! The world was a madhouse!

Umbrellas - _Penguin_. The name evoked anger, the old grudge, as fresh as always. _Cut his throat with a metal card! _Yes. This time, there would be no regrets.

He meandered. The stench of humanity still sickened him. He had forgotten - no. No he hadn't. His real self never forgot. But his real self had been under _their_ control for too long. No longer. He was no one's lapdog.

He was the Savior and the Butcher all in one.

"I will remake my marks. And then I will save you all. No one is safe from my knife. No one will be spared. I will cut until the whole world is free!" he smiled in exultation. "I will follow my divine purpose!"

But first, a little visit. He needed to pay homage to someone. Two someones actually.

The Sprang Bridge had not changed. True, it was not the balmy weather of the summertime - it was cold and rainy - but if anything, it only deepened the somber mood that was always present on the mighty bridge. Perhaps his mother was here hidden in the mist somewhere, crying. And yet the tears felt good. He was alive. He was here. This was the way it was supposed to be.

He ran his fingertips along the moist railing, tasting the rust in the air mixed with sea salt. The wind licked his bald head appreciatively - no, not totally bald. He had one tally mark there now. He sighed.

The fog parted for a moment, and he saw a dark shape ahead, clothes and hair billowing against the wind. Fear jolted his heart suddenly. Had they come for him? Come to throw him over the edge a second time? He began to panic. No! Not here!

Slowly his eyes adjusted. The apparition suddenly disappeared, leaving a bent figure in its place… Not one of the shadows, but rather a person. A person who was very familiar...

He smiled.

_Some things do change._

She wore black jeans, black sneakers, black long-sleeved v-neck shirt, a black band around one wrist… _She's in mourning._ Brown unadorned hair flowed freely as she leaned against the bridge, gazing out across the water at the horizon. _Danielle. _Her thoughts must be very far away for him to be this close to her without her noticing. She should really learn to be more mindful of her surroundings.

Scalpel in his left hand, carving knife in his right.

He was close enough to touch her hair...

She spun suddenly. _Bad move._

He was barely aware of the blow that came, the pain exploding in the side of his head. The ferocity, the wildness in her eyes, had already captivated him. And yet somehow, it seemed not all of the hatred was directed at him.

Her mouth curled into a snarl. He grinned back. Both baring their teeth.

He expected words. Maybe some kind of sarcastic salute, or an outburst. Her fists did her talking instead.

WHACK! The scalpel went flying, spinning in slow motion, dried blood still painting the slender handle. Zsasz moved his head to watch the blade as it vanished into the mist.

He barely dodged her next blow and aimed his own at her ribs, spotting an opening. She was too fast. She twisted his body, twisted his right arm and wrenched hard, and the carving knife clattered to the pavement. She kicked it away. He boxed her ear with his forehead, loosening her grip, and they righted themselves, panting and glaring, now in unarmed combat. Danielle looked positively murderous.

She was so beautiful!

"You kept my work," he nodded at her face. The scar stretched from forehead to nose, gleaming all the more as the blood rushed to her face. "But that's not even the best one…" He yearned to touch the diamond-shaped one on the back of her neck.

"If you wanted to kill me, you should have done it while my back was turned!" she snapped. That anger… oh yes… He wanted to make many more marks upon her, and it would be so much more rewarding if she resisted him, turning their fight into an art of slashes and parries, but for now… for now, _he wanted to dance with her._

"Ahh, but I didn't try to kill you," he called back conversationally. "If I did… you wouldn't still be alive, now would you, Danielle?"

"What?"

Another blade materialized in his hand, and he held it up casually, examining its sharpness, picking a blackened nail with the tip… and then he looked at her. Her stoic expression remained, but her heart nearly stopped. The familiar look in his eyes was back. _He_ was back.

_Panic and anger swept across Zsasz's face. She had asked it of him – the thing that she knew would give her peace. And he was refusing her! Trying to talk her off the ledge. Again, she heard herself plead with him, telling him that she was scared, that she didn't know who she was anymore. Couldn't he understand? And now he was staring straight into her with a blazing look, past all her fears, right into her very core. How? How could he see so much? "I know who you are…" he whispered. "I have always known."_

Danielle blinked.

"You never left…" He extended his arms with a flourish. "I knew you…_couldn't_. This is the place, isn't it? The last time we were together was here. Right here." He pointed to the railing behind her. "The place where we almost ascended together, to oblivion…" There was no anger in his gaze, only softness. "But life has other plans sometimes, doesn't it?"

"You killed 34 people," she spat flatly. So what if he was back? After what he did in Gotham Square… no. This changed _nothing._

_"Nothing is more intimate than witnessing someone's death. You of all people should know that best. This is an honor I am giving you." She knew that this was her duty now. It was the only way she could escape him._

"Would you believe temporary insanity?" he laughed his high, chilling laugh. "I wouldn't! I couldn't be prouder of liberating those poor piggies from their mundane lives… as soon as I make those marks in my skin, that is."

"Yeah, how's that going for you, your marks and all?" she asked nastily.

He merely shook his head. "Temper, temper… Danielle… You haven't given me a welcome home hug."

_Suddenly he was kissing her. She wrapped her arms around him and they devoured each other. It felt like the wind picked up speed within their fierce embrace. He tasted so good._

"Didn't figure you'd want one, what with us being arch-nemeses and all. Didn't you say last week you want me dead? Why the change in heart?"

He approached her again. "I know it wasn't your fault. Those words I spoke – well, they weren't my own. But you already know that, don't you?" Her jeans made the curves of her legs stand out, and he wanted to squeeze them to himself—

"Maybe I'll kill you this time!" she screamed at him, briefly losing her composure.

"No," his calmness infuriated her, "You won't. You meant every word you said that night at the piers. You don't want to kill me. I could hear the sincerity in your voice."

"You want to test me?" she hissed.

"Always."

She jumped back as Zsasz made a sudden swipe with the knife. "Dance with me, Danielle!" Instantly he was crouched low, teeth bared, a predatory gleam in his eyes. She immediately took a defensive position. _Speed is his thing… I need to be mindful of that._

"How did you escape from the hospital?" She glared at him.

He slashed; she moved to cover on the outside of his arm and he pivoted to track her. _He wants a dance? I'll give him one. I don't care how many knives he has on him, I'll take away every last one of them, and then I'll KILL him!_

"Now… Why would you ask an obvious question like that? What you really mean to ask, dearest Danielle, is how many did I kill before I escaped?"

"Bastard!" She spun. WHACK! Zsasz's knife went flying.

SWIPP! A line of red down her sleeve. _Two knives, fuck!_

He went for her shoulder. "Ugh!" She blocked; reversed her hold and twisted his arm. He dropped the blade, not anticipating her speed. _Four knives down! Infinity more to go!_

They squared off. Zsasz's gaunt, nightmarish face was filled with glee at her predicament. Danielle's cheeks were flushed and the veins in her eyes were showing. He was scrutinizing her every movement.

She stopped. His eyes narrowed. _She's standing too straight_.

WHOOOSH! He felt the wind of her kick as he dodged. She landed, pivoting— WHACK!

He managed a smirk. Hope she liked that one, square on her butt.

She was too quick to recover—BAM! Zsasz's fist in her face. She clutched her nose. A second blow. "Fah!" A hand around her neck, grabbing her hair, wrenching back her head.

"Your skills are showing, my Alive Girl." She struggled to keep her balance as he bent her backward slowly over the railing, drawing yet another knife. "Your form has improved since the last time we fought." _Was that supposed to be a compliment?_ "You worked so hard to become a… what was it? A self-defense teacher now… aren't you?" She remembered with a jolt that she no longer was, now that the Note Writer had destroyed that dream… was it him? Was _Zsasz_ the Note Writer after all? "But are your skills match enough for me?" he whispered, his horrid breath washing over her face.

Her hands scrabbled desperately. Nails bit into the skin of his face. She dragged his head close to hers—CRUNCH! Zsasz groaned and dropped his hold to grasp his own nose. WHACK! A kick to the nuts, which he barely dodged. SMACK! The fifth knife skittered away over the pavement, as lost as the others. Zsasz did not bother to rearm this time.

Bruises were rising on both their faces. Danielle could barely feel hers over the rush of adrenaline. Zsasz didn't feel his at all.

"You know… I took martial arts, once upon a time. I traveled to another place to learn."

Danielle's heart was thundering, her hands raised and ready. _If I had my baseball bat…_

"So you see, even without my knives—"

She swung. "Don't get overconfident!"

"You said that to me before," Zsasz replied, sidestepping her attack.

She just barely moved out of the way as he came at her with a fresh bout of energy – and this time, he left no openings. She kept her guard up, forearms rained with blows as he increased his speed. It was all she could do to defend herself. _He fights even better unarmed, more fluidly— _"AHH!"

Sickening nausea. Zsasz's fist withdrew from her stomach. _No! No!_ She blocked unsuccessfully. He nailed her in the side of the head. She almost threw up. He knocked her on the ground with a vicious knee to the face.

Then he was pulling her to her feet and slamming her backward into the railing. His body flush against hers, his hips pressing into her, dominating her, bending her backward. Lightheaded, with blood pattering softly from her broken nose. _Nowhere to go._

Hands around her shoulders. He was lifting her up! She struggled to keep her balance. They stood on the railing above the waves at dizzying heights. Zsasz's hands were fast around her shoulders. She glared up at him. _I refuse to be weak, ever again. I will look my enemy in the eye._

POW! Zsasz's fist in her face, and he ended her right there. She felt gravity take hold, felt the inevitable dip in her stomach as she began to plummet helplessly from the bridge, toward the water—

A hand, grabbing her, steadying her, pulling her back. She opened her eyes. Zsasz's blue eyes stared down into hers.

_Sudden understanding._

His mouth covered hers. A slow burn started somewhere deep inside her, with a fierceness that shook her. Sensually, hungrily he devoured her. She moaned softly into the kiss, and his grip on her arms tightened. They stood still on the railing, high above the waves, sun burning down from above through the ubiquitous fog… or was it her imagination? The lightheadedness worsened, and she felt like she was falling. But Zsasz did not let go, and he did not waver.

He released her lips. She stared at him, out-of-breath and _speechless_. For a moment, she wondered if he were holding her here to plummet with her, to die together this time—

He pulled her to him with strong arms, hands provocatively low on her waist, and then jumped with her – safely onto the pavement. Only then did he fully release her.

Well, physically at least. In those short few seconds, he had fully taken possession of her world again, somehow.

* * *

Danielle was still staring at him. No snarky comment, no punch, no attempt to escape. She wasn't doing anything at all but staring at him with the eyes of someone lost. Her confusion was almost precious to him. It meant, among other things, that she didn't totally hate him right now. He knew she didn't. It meant that the spark he had felt when they kissed – he had caused the same spark in her. She felt it too.

_She is staring at me this way because… because I give her just as much meaning as she gives me, and she cannot deny it anymore._

He could see her nipples through her shirt, only enhanced by her harsh breathing. Her face was flushed, her nose bloodied, and her eyes… _Yes,_ he thought as he followed her gaze to his chest. _She is…attracted to me._ And he smiled widely at this revelation.

"The last time we were here…" he said, feeling oddly gentle at the moment, "You asked me to kill you, and you said that I gave your life unbearable meaning…"

She blinked. His words seemed to snap her partially out of her trance. She waited for him to continue.

"But now look at you. You are still alive, and you have found even greater meaning. You have begun a crusade, just like Batman." He sneered at the vigilante's name and his eyes flickered to the streetlight. _No one up there to spoil our moment._ "You have become a different person these last years. And yet, in spite of it all, you could never forget about me. You still need me to give your life meaning."

"No, I—"

"I don't hate you for your crusade. You'd think I would. It would be only too easy to want to kill you for trying so hard to keep the zombies tethered to this world, for having such a... _different_ purpose from mine. But… there is a spark you have not lost. Your passion for life. Even though you hide it, dulled it, it's still there. And I still… love you for it. You're mine, Danielle. You still need me."

_You still need me._ Danielle felt sick to her stomach. His words, rather than ensnaring her further, had released her. How close she had been to losing everything, once again, to this man… this _murderer_. How could she think they had ever shared a connection, when they held such opposite views on the sacredness of life? "No, Zsasz," she said softly, sadly, "The only thing I have ever needed from you… is for you to lay down your crusade and spare all the innocent people's lives. Just… just stop killing them, Zsasz! _Let them live._" Zsasz saw tears gather in her eyes, and she blinked them back, trying so very hard to be strong in front of him.

Then the fight drained from her and she slumped forward, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. She knew he would never be able to agree to it… so she walked away instead.

"Where are you going?" he yelled indignantly. Their conversation wasn't over!

"I'm going to the hospital to see about my broken nose," she replied over her shoulder. "And then I'm going to make amends with my baseball bat!"

Zsasz's mouth fell open. She… walked away. He almost smiled at the irony… Hadn't he walked away from her once, in a crowded Gotham Square, on a hot summer day with ice cream and families all around? What it had meant to him, not at the time but easily visible much later, was that neither one of them could stand to kill the other. He left because he did not want her to die, and she let him walk away for the same reason. And now she was again walking away from the fight… away from _him_.

He touched the spot on his chest softly. Here was one spot that would never be marked with his blade… _hers._ But no matter what scars he regained and made anew, he knew her _mark_ would always be there.

His teeth clenched suddenly and he glared hard at her retreating back. He would let her go this once, on a whim, but… "This is not over," he whispered as the terrible anger blackened his heart and dimmed his thoughts, "and I will be _damned_ if you walk away from me again, Danielle!"

**_-/-/-/-/-_**


	11. Chapter 10: Full Moon

**A/N:** Just fyi, the chapters have shifted up by one. I split an earlier chapter into two and expanded on the intro - made the story flow better! Sorry for any confusion.

Thank you 4SeasonsChick and LaPetitePivoine for your reviews! :) They made me so happy. Writing their relationship is the hardest/funnest part of the story, so your reviews really meant a lot to me. :D Thank you Liliel and BloomingFireHeart for following/faving, and all the awesome folks who have been faving/reviewing S.S.S. as well. :) You guys rock!

Disclaimer: I don't own Batman. Batman owns me.

**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Ten: FULL MOON-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

The world swam in front of her. This walk was too long, she decided. Luckily the fog was chilly, or the pain would be a lot worse.

Her shirt felt sticky. When she looked down, she realized it was covered in blood. Hard to see against the black shirt, but it was there, a dark puddle. _How had she lost that much blood?_

For the tenth time she turned her head to see if he had followed her. She breathed a small sigh of relief when no one was there. Though that comforted her little. _He could be hiding in the fog again…_

The hospital was ahead. Relief surged through her.

Stumbling through the main entrance door, she could vaguely hear Mrs. Phillips' horrified gasp. Warm arms steadied her. "My dear, what happened?!"

"I had a little run-in with Zsasz," she was surprised at how hoarse her voice sounded. "I got away, but he—"

"We need to get you to urgent care. The emergency room is still inundated."

"But your desk—"

"Don't worry about it, my dear," Mrs. Phillips waved to a guard. "Please watch the front, Eric. Keep special watch out for anyone who might intrude in the lobby. Mr. Zsasz might return."

She heard the security guard barking on his radio, and then she was whisked into the elevator and taken up to the ICU. Sitting on a bench, she saw Mrs. Phillips sweep over to the desk to register her. It felt surreal sitting here, again a patient instead of an employee. Strange how different a hospital could feel, depending what side of it you were on.

Nurses were rushing past her. They seemed extra apprehensive, but she thought she must have been projecting on them. No doubt it was just a busy day…

"—Found the bodies when he went in to check on the John Doe."

"Oh my God…"

"Fiona, what are you talking about? Who found what?"

Three nurses were standing in a nearby doorway whispering urgently. Danielle found herself listening in to their conversation, feeling a growing sense of horror at their words. If she didn't know any better, she'd think they were talking about—

"John Doe turned out to be that Zsasz guy, the killer in the news from the Square Massacre." Yep, it was him. Her skin prickled all over. _That's right… he escaped from here. He asked me how many people I thought he killed in the process. Sick bastard._

"…Oh no, oh no…" The third nurse had caught on. Danielle's heart broke hearing the fear in her voice. "Who?"

"Monica, James, and Carrie. He got them."

"Oh God noooo…"

_Monica… Wait a minute! MONICA?! Are they talking about my student?! _She was only vaguely aware of Mrs. Phillips saying goodbye and leaving. _Monica is…dead?_

"Dr. Murphy found them 20 minutes ago. I was with him. It was horrible."

"Where is he?!"

"Dr. Murphy?"

"No, where's the murderer?"

"We don't know," the second nurse butted in. "Security's looking for him. We don't know if he's still in the hospital, so security's going to each floor to search for him, make sure no one else gets killed."

"So that's why we're all being summoned?"

"Seems that way."

"Who the hell let him in here? He was admitted here, none of us were told, and then he wakes up and kills us? What if he had killed more of us?"

"James' family's going to be devastated. They lost his brother Henry four years ago during the Joker Takeover at Arkham."

Danielle couldn't listen anymore. _Monica…_ She felt cold all over. _I lost another one. No. No, this can't be happening. Not like this._ Her stomach turned, and tears streamed down her face. _First Greta, now Monica. Two students dead. This can't be a coincidence. Zsasz really is the note-writer._

"Five more bodies in the first-floor kitchen," she heard. When she looked up, two security guards were coming in from the hall, walking briskly toward the other end of the wing. "And a whole lot of food missing too. Guy must have been hungry."

"So he murdered the kitchen staff and ate all the food? How are we gonna eat lunch then?"

"Stop worrying about lunch, man. People died in there."

"Does that mean they bled on the leftovers?"

"You wouldn't happen to be a sociopath, would you?"

"No, just hungry."

"ATTENTION: This is a code orange. Will all ICU personnel please proceed to the ICU main lobby. Will all security personnel please proceed to the ICU main lobby. Thank you for your cooperation."

Suddenly the waiting area was filled with people. Security guards were posted all around, and one of the head nurses stepped up and began to talk. She vaguely heard instructions about seeing all waiting patients to their rooms and how a security guard must escort the nurse and the patient, while the rest would remain there. Another nurse was assigned to lock all the patients in their rooms as a safety measure. The ICU would remain operational, but a security detail would remain posted at the front for the rest of the day, until the murderer was caught or the hospital was in the clear. She could easily tell them that he was long gone. She should say something—

"Miss Danielle?"

She looked up. Tears flooded her eyes again. For a moment, she wondered if Zsasz had hit her head too hard.

"Monica?"

Nurse Alvaro leaned over her with a gloved hand, gently checking her broken nose. "What happened, Miss Danielle?"

"Monica!" Danielle stood up suddenly, startling the young woman, and hugged her fiercely. No doubt she was smearing the nurse's uniform with blood, but right then she didn't care. "You're alive! Oh thank God!"

Monica furrowed her eyebrows. "Shouldn't I be?"

"I heard—I heard that a nurse named Monica was killed here—"

"It was a different Monica." Her student looked so sad. "I cannot believe this is all happening."

"Me either." For a long moment, the two women held each other, both looking sadly into each others' eyes. Danielle took a deep breath. "I… I have some very bad news." How was she going to tell her this, on top of everything that had happened here today?

"What is it?"

"Greta from class… has passed away."

Monica's brown eyes filled with tears. "Oh no."

"It was the same person who wrote the note a few weeks ago. He wrote another one… We've shut down the classes." As she said it, it sunk in with such finality… that it was really over. She held her student tighter. "The classes are _gone_, Monica. I'm so sorry."

* * *

"Broken nose?" Kairi Tanaga jabbed her reckless student in the forehead with one pointy finger. "And just what do you expect to do in this class with a broken nose?"

"Are you saying I should go home?" It was Wednesday, the day after Zsasz's hospital rampage. Fortunately the break in the cartilage had been clean, and the swelling and black eyes were going down. Still… what was she thinking, risking her early healing over training? Danielle looked sheepishly down her bandaged nose at the dojo's red training mats. Images of bleeding all over Kairi's floors flashed to mind, and then having to clean it all up—

Kairi's eyes sparkled mischievously. "I have just the training for you!"

A few minutes later, Danielle found herself in the lotus position, training to quieten her heart. Deep breaths, releasing all the energy of the last few days, observing but not holding all the scary thoughts, sensing the healing energy gathering in her nose… Kairi really couldn't have chosen a better training._  
_

The time passed peacefully. Slowly, the other students wound down. She heard Julien thank his partner of the day. Kairi's footsteps approached quietly. She couldn't hear them - rather, she could feel them through the ground.

"I will have you sit out of rigorous training for the next two weeks," Kairi told her. "You will come to class to meditate instead. How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling better."

"Are you really?"

"…I'm feeling more aware of the sadness," Danielle told her reluctantly. "I just-" she put a hand over her heart. Kairi nodded.

"Bruce Wayne-san has told me about your classes. He speaks very highly of your skills as a teacher," Tanaga-sensei crouched in front of her. "With great strength comes great responsibility. You know this well. As a teacher, you feel great drive to protect those who are less strong than you."

"Yes," she whispered. "I feel like I failed them."

"The very best teachers lead by example and inspire confidence and passion in their students. We are responsible for a lot, for their safety."

"What do you think, Tanaga-sensei," Danielle asked, suddenly feeling desperate. "Should I have kept the classes going, to keep teaching them? Or was I right to suspend them?"

Kairi did not answer. Danielle knew that not even her teacher could say one way or another. It was her choice, her burden to carry.

"Meditate tonight before you go to sleep. Empty your mind. You'll sleep better and heal better." She nodded to Danielle's nose. "Be mindful of your health."

* * *

The apartment had never seemed emptier when she returned home from the dojo.

She flopped down on the couch and slung her bag to one side. The sun was long gone, not that it mattered – the bookshelves were still in front of the living room window. The first aid kit was lying on the table, the phone was still strung up near the front door… What was the point of all her precautions now? A student was dead. The classes were gone. _The Note Writer had won._

She thought of her students. "What will you do, Theodore?" she wondered, tracing a finger over the First Aid Kit. "Will you overcome your bullies, the ones who wait for you everyday outside your front door? What about you, Scott? Are you free of the crime family who was targeting you, or will they send someone to silence you?" She knotted her fingers in her hair. "Just once, Becky, will you make your abusive uncle sorry for messing with you, so he never tries to again?" Would they survive, toughen up the way she had? Could she put her faith in them to take care of themselves?

_Would the Note Writer leave them all alone since he'd gotten what he wanted, or would he go after them anyway out of sheer malice? If the Note Writer was Zsasz…_ she shuddered to think. _They wouldn't stand a chance against him. _Her students still needed her help. They were still her responsibility.

_I need to call Commissioner Gordon… _The dial tone rang in her ear.

"Gordon's office."

"Hi Commissioner. It's Danielle Lee. I shut down the classes. It's done."

A long pause. "That must have been very hard for you. You did the right thing."

"Did I? Now my students are all by themselves…"

"Listen, anytime we do something to protect someone's life… it's a good thing. Don't lose hope yet. We're not done tracking down this sonofabitch. I'll call you if we figure anything out. Keep your head up."

"Thanks…" The phone disconnected.

_Ring ring!_ "Hmm, maybe he forgot something… Hello?"

"Oh, Danielle…"

Sudden anger.

* * *

Zsasz sighed in satisfaction. He had _so_ hoped she would answer.

"I was thinking…" he spoke whimsically to his sweetheart, "If you're not terribly busy, we should get a hot chocolate tomorrow night at Gotham Square. Do you remember when we had our first date there, that hot summer's day?" He twirled the phone cord around one finger. "It would be a nice contrast to go there in the winter. Don't you think so, Danielle? Seasonal sweets, tiny brats and their families running all around... I hear they've mostly cleaned up the blood!" He laughed maliciously.

For a moment, she sputtered into the receiver. "You're psychotic, you know that?!"

He was undeterred. "And here I thought a romantic date would lift your sour mood–"

"Would you stop calling it a date?! We weren't there on a _date_ the first time, and-and considering what you've done?"

"You sound… upset."

"No thanks to you, you asswipe!"

"I don't appreciate your tone, Danielle," his voice hardened. "I may not want to kill _you_, but I cannot say the same for _your friends_."

"So you threaten my friends now… First my classes, and now my friends…" _Her class? _He hadn't, but she had just given him a good idea. "You have to resort to attacking everyone around me because you know I'm not afraid of you."

"Oh, but you _are_ afraid of me. I _know_ you're afraid of me and what I'm planning to do to you—"

"Isn't what you did to Greta enough?!"

"Greta?"

"You and your sick notes! You and your little sick games—"

"Notes?" Suddenly Zsasz didn't like where this conversation was going. "I've never sent you any notes, Danielle."

"Don't play mindgames with me, you—!"

"What kind of notes?" He gritted his teeth. "From a… secret admirer, perhaps?"

"Secret admirer?" she laughed so hard, so manically, that she sounded on the verge of sobbing. He heard her gasping to regain control over her voice. "I'd hardly call them an admirer! Creepy nursery rhymes, telling me to stop teaching my classes and lay down my crusade… Oh, they succeeded," she said, and there was so much bitterness in her voice. "It wasn't you?"

"No. No, I don't write nursery rhymes. Someone else is after you," he said in disbelief. _Someone else has power over her._ "What do the notes say?"

"Why do you care—"

"Just-" he almost lost patience, "_tell me_ what the notes say. I might be able to help you somehow."

"You—"

"I don't like knowing that there is someone out there who is possibly as fixated on you as I am," he stated. "You are _my_ mark. There, you've heard my reasoning, now read me the notes!"

She did. Given how quickly she answered him, he guessed she had recited them from perfect memory. There were three notes - as she had said, they were demanding she cease her classes. He heard her voice catch on the name: _'Greta'_. One of her piggy friends, or more likely one of her students? When she was finished, the line was silent for a long moment.

"Zsasz?"

"You're in danger," he breathed finally. "Someone wants you dead because of your work. You're a _target_, Danielle."

_"Well isn't that the pot calling the kettle!"_ she scoffed. But he heard her sigh shakily.

"For some reason, I am gaining the impression that this person was hired," he said uncertainly. "There is no mention of a past incident or slight, and this person does not taunt you with anything aside from your students. It does not sound like a personal grudge, and you would know if it was personal."

"I'm not sure who it is."

"You had better be careful, Danielle. Go out somewhere, don't stay too long at home. They might try to kill you anyway, and they will have more trouble finding you if you're unpredictable…" The irony was not lost on him how he knew to give her this advice. She had used that exact strategy for weeks, and it had kept him from killing her, three years ago when he had first pursued her mark. As it was, he had no idea where she lived now. She had been careful - _too_ careful - going home from work on the days he had tried to follow her. But if someone else had managed to find out where she lived, was somehow a better tracker than him… The thought burned him up. Though he suspected it was because he hated for another person to be better than him.

"If I didn't know any better… I'd think you were worried," she said softly, snapping him out of his thoughts. Before he could answer, she chuckled. "Well, whatever you're planning, you'd better do it soon, Zsasz. My 'secret admirer' might get to me first." Without waiting for a response, she hung up.

Zsasz glared down at the phone, and with deceptive calmness, he laid it back in its cradle.

His mind worked as he exited the phone booth. _So… there is a competitor out there for her attentions. For her emotions._

That would not do.

He would find this so-called 'admirer'. First, he would follow Danielle again; in the process, he was sure to spot her new stalker! And then he would take his time carving the interloper's mark into his flesh…

But first, a little game. Danielle needed a reminder about who _really_ owned her life.

_"Soon, piggies…"_

* * *

Thursday evening. No sign of the self-defense teacher in two days.

The Note Writer stretched his long fingers. From his vantage point, he could see everything. The security guard pacing through the hallways, shiny badge glittering in the light. A nurse and a surgeon, hands all over each other, canoodling down the corridor. The old doddering hospital secretary, the Old Mother Hubbard, come down to stare apprehensively through the glass window into the darkened office.

She stood for so long and so intently, and then finally mouthed a name. He knew whose name she uttered. His smile split forth in malicious glee as he took in her face. Her skin wrinkled and mouldering, large scared eyes magnified behind her cat glasses. _Always nice to see an old friend._

The secretary's face pinched in determination. For a moment, it looked as though she was staring straight into his hiding place, _straight at him_. But it couldn't be. He was hidden, behind shadows and steel.

She finally turned away to trudge down the hall and back up to her miserable post. Nothing to see here, move along. Though he strongly suspected she knew who he was. Well, she would know better than anyone, wouldn't she?

The classes were closed. And as an added bonus, the self-defense teacher had been too chicken to come in.

_My work here is finished._

_But just to be safe, one more day..._

* * *

When Friday morning rolled around, she decided to suck it up.

She hadn't gone to work the past two days, moping as she was. Why bother? She didn't have a job to do anymore, did she? But that wasn't entirely true… She still had paperwork. _Lots_ of paperwork.

As the elevator descended in the hospital, her stomach tightened with dread. Her office felt infected now. The Note Writer had been there, _inside_ her sanctuary, leaving a note filled with malice and gloating over her student's death. A pang in her heart. How was she going to have the courage to work in there today? As the elevator doors opened, she steeled herself.

Froze. For a moment, she had heard soft voices. _No, Danielle. You're being paranoid. You're procrastinating. _She continued, lead in every step.

She rounded the corner to her office—

"SURPRISE!"

A shower of confetti landed in her hair. Sudden tears of happiness filled her eyes.

Her Tuesday class beamed at her from their campout in front of her office. Danielle couldn't believe it. They were all here! She saw Monica and Sarah, holding up picnic baskets, and Lloyd holding balloons. Theodore was cheering as he led everyone into an enthusiastic round of clapping. Scott smiled hugely as he threw another handful of confetti. A flash of blonde and suddenly she was being squeezed around the neck by Becky.

Catching her breath, Danielle beamed at her students. "Wh-What are you guys doing here?"

"We're here for class, Miss Danielle!" Theodore declared, and everyone cheered again.

"I got everyone's contact info," Cecil held up his notebook with his good hand. "It was Theodore's idea to do this." She turned and Theodore glanced at the ground, blushing. "Everyone unanimously agreed to be here today," Cecil grinned at her. "We just needed our teacher!"

"But—But what about—"

"Look, we're not scared," Scott interrupted. "Or if we are, we decided it's better to keep taking the classes. We need to take care of ourselves, Miss Danielle, and that means learning how."

"So will you teach us?" Theodore asked hopefully.

She looked around at their eager faces. Her heart sank. Damned if they do, and damned if they don't. Could she really refuse them? Scott and Theodore stared at her, determination burning in their eyes. Didn't she want to put the faith in them to take care of themselves? If they decided that this was what they wanted — no, _needed —_ then who was she to stop them?

"Yes."

"YAAAAAYYYYY!"

Two hours later, sweating and exhausted, they went out to the small courtyard and enjoyed their lunch. It was frosty out, and they huddled together, laughing and sharing their hopes. At the end, she hugged them all, warning them that she might change her mind next week, telling them to look out for themselves and each other. "Safety's Number One!" She hugged Theodore the longest. "Thank you so much," she motioned to his classmates. "You gave them all hope." Softly, "Sometimes, it's the students who teach the teacher."

Her class left and she went back to her office, a new spring in her step.

Her phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Girl, there you are!" It was Cindy. "I've been trying to reach you on your other phone."

"I left my cell at home on accident."

"So you're back in the office."

Danielle chuckled. "I had some help, but yes… I'm back."

"Mrs. Phillips and I were worried — she wants to talk to you, by the way. You doing OK?"

She could hear the concern in her friend's voice. "I am now. I'm sorry for worrying you guys."

"You sound good. You can tell me all about it tonight! Are we still on for dinner?"

"You know it! Seafood, here we come!"

* * *

"Mm, but that crab chowder sure hit the spot!"

Cindy and Danielle waddled around the pier, clutching their sides and laughing. Between the oysters, the chowder and the bread bowl, they were both stuffed.

Festive music wafted in the air. The pier was decked out with holiday lights, and people were everywhere, all wool jackets and warm hats. It was a clear, cloudless night, with stars dotting the heavens. The moon was just rising.

"Hey, wanna go for dessert? I smell funnel cake!"

Cindy was smiling, cheeks lit up like a Christmas ornament. Her friend had a huge sweet tooth, especially for all things _cinnamon_. A dream flashed back to mind, the one where they had eaten the giant pastry, of Cindy's face covered with frosting. For some reason, the thought turned her stomach. Or it could have just been that she was overly full.

"You go for it. I don't want to get a stomach ache."

The friends partied into the night, relaxing in the jovial atmosphere, letting their troubles go. Danielle peered over the black water to the glittering lights in the distance. She glanced down at the docks and smiled wryly. Seemed the seals had wisely cleared out of there. Maybe the bright lights were scaring them… or maybe they had gone someplace warmer.

Hours later, and they had all but forgotten their troubles. They hadn't talked about them, and Danielle had forgotten to call Mrs. Phillips and see what was so urgent.

Cindy said she needed to go home; Dante was waiting up, no doubt. Danielle offered to catch the bus together. The friends agreed to call each other once they got in safety.

As they walked away from the boisterous piers, Danielle noticed that the moon had risen overhead. "Hey look Cindy, there's a rainbow…!"

Indeed there was. A shiny rainbow made a ring around the full moon, making it appear even more dramatic than usual. "It means it's a sign of rain," Cindy mused.

_Or a sign of bad luck,_ Danielle remembered. In her hometown, the villagers had considered it a sign of approaching snakes. Of course, the snakes could just be restless because it was getting ready to rain...

As they walked out of Amusement Mile, Danielle couldn't stop looking up at the moon's bow. The icy circle seemed to shine more brightly when she looked. Her skin rippled with goosebumps. Suddenly being out at night didn't seem like such a good idea anymore.

The friends rode the bus, and Cindy's stop was first. Danielle waved to her friend through the foggy window and promised herself to call once she got inside.

The elevator seemed so slow going up. It must be chilly inside. She coughed a little.

Down the hallway, keys fiddling in the lock, door shutting. She sighed. She was safe. It was dark in her apartment, though the streetlights filtered in, casting shadows.

Time to call Cindy. She picked up the receiver.

_The phone was dead._

Fear shot through her. Frantically she turned to run—

"OH GOD NO!"

The intruder stood menacingly in her doorway. No words, just blocking the way out.

She lashed out with a shriek...

And _missed!_ Fear coursed through her.

The figure reached out a hand—

"NO!" _CRUNCH!_

She broke the intruder's face with her bare fist. The shadowy figure fell to the ground and did not move.

For a long moment, the only sound was Danielle's shuddering breath.

_Had she killed him?_

Finally, she turned on the light. When she saw the body, she felt terrified and sick.

_It was Greta._

**_-/-/-/-/-_**


	12. Chapter 11: Nightmares

**A/N:** Thank you 4SeasonsChick and Guest for your reviews, and thank you BloodPoison13 and Doggy Bye for following/faving!

:)

**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Eleven: NIGHTMARES-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

Danielle stumbled back from the body.

_How could this have happened?_

A large black bruise was forming on Greta's still face.

How could she be here? She had died! No... no it couldn't be. Had Greta somehow survived, come to warn Danielle about the Note Writer... and then Danielle had killed her own student?!

With growing horror, she looked down at her fist. A small bruise was forming. _It's finally happened._ Danielle bowed her head. "I'm so sorry, Greta."

She was a murderer. Instead of protecting her student, she had killed her. She had murdered an innocent. Her greatest fear was real: she had finally become Victor Zsasz.

With blurred eyes, she knelt down to touch Greta's face...

Her lips were blue. This couldn't be right. Her limbs were rigid. _Oh my God..._

Greta was already dead after all! Some sicko had put Greta's body in her doorway to scare her!

Her head darted out. No one in the hallway. She listened carefully. No footsteps.

Her cell phone was on the coffee table. Phone in hand, she froze. Call the police? She had to, but... She glanced over to the body in the doorway. How would she explain-?

_The body was gone._

A chill ran up her spine. She reached for a nearby broom handle and took a cautious step forward.

Where was the intruder? Were they hiding just outside the open door? She felt sick with fear. No, she couldn't go that way.

She opened the sliding glass window and climbed out onto the fire escape. Step by metal step she descended, craning her head up. No one was following her.

From the bottom it was a long drop to the pavement. She landed hard and looked around frantically.

Nobody there but the cold moon. The rainbow around it had grown in size and now blotted out half the night sky. Its ethereal light seemed to descend upon her like a snare. She shivered and pulled out her phone.

"Hello? Cindy?"

"What's up?"

"Cindy, we're in danger." Her mouth was moving too slowly. "There's a maniac on the loose. Call Mrs. Phillips. Both of you meet me at-"

"The hospital?"

"Sounds good." She hesitated. Something didn't feel right. "Cindy - stay safe."

The line clicked.

She slipped the phone into her pocket. The streetlights seemed darker than usual, a smoky orange. A wind chilled her skin, and the fait smell of cinnamon drifted through the air. She passed the pastry shop quickly.

The streets were getting darker - or maybe the streetlamps were disappearing one by one. Soon she would only have the cold giant moon for company. Its pure whiteness had changed into a pale blue, and it looked like the face of a woman in the sky - perhaps like the face of Zsasz's tattoo.

Her eyes must be playing tricks on her. As she stared, the moon's face changed, morphing horrifically. For an instant, it resembled a jack o'lantern's face.

She blinked. She didn't know where she was. Somehow the streets had gotten twisted around while she was watching the moon. Her surroundings were still somewhat familiar - she must be near the hospital.

There was a light ahead. Curiously, she approached. It looked like a small square or park...

Her stomach dropped; suddenly she knew where she was. _This was where I met Zsasz_ \- it was the park where he had murdered the young couple.

There was a group of people crowding around a park bench. She didn't want to see. Her feet moved forward anyway.

It was the same bench where he posed them.

Step by heavy step. She couldn't see what was on the bench. The crowd was too thick.

As she approached, they all moved, though no one turned to look at her. She didn't want to see the couple again, cold and dead in the moonlight, but she braced herself.

She wasn't prepared for what she saw.

Ever since she had come to this country, there had been a small group of people who had become her family. Every day since she had met Zsasz, she had feared that something could happen to any of them. She thought they had been so careful... but now, standing above the two dead bodies, she knew she had just been _lucky_ all this time.

Mrs. Phillips and Cindy lay on the cold bench, their throats cut.

Her breath left her. Even in death, her friends looked so heartbreakingly beautiful. She tried to reach out and hold them, but she was crying too hard.

The crowd was staring at her now. Her students. They were all there, staring accusingly at her. First Greta, then Cindy and Mrs. Phillips. She had failed them all - and her students knew it.

The whispers began. The vicious accusations that she had put them in harm's way intentionally, that she had caused their deaths, that she hadn't tried hard enough to keep them safe. Her face burned in sorrow and shame, but there was nothing she could do. They were right.

Cindy's hand was lying open, something clutched in her still fingers. Gently, respectfully, she prized her best friend's hand open - her hand, she noticed, was still warm. Something deep red fell out - a garnet! As Danielle stared in confusion, the stone fell onto the pavement. When she blinked, she realized she had seen it wrong the first time - it was a can of mace. Had she meant to defend herself from her attacker? Danielle picked up the can of mace, and felt a surge of strength suddenly, as if somehow, everything was going to be OK...

Someone was coming!

She couldn't yell fast enough. Zsasz materialized abruptly, knives already splattered with blood. Rage swept through her - he was the one who had killed her friends! Her students stood, staring, as Zsasz cut through them one by one. It happened so fast - Danielle couldn't scream, couldn't fight. She raised her hand - but the can of mace was gone!

Soon bodies surrounded her, freshly killed students and friends, and it was just her and the psycho. And then, with a malicious gleam in his eyes, Zsasz's blade descended into her neck too.

* * *

A spooky hospital corridor was no place for a playboy billionaire to be wandering at night.

Then again, Bruce Wayne wasn't like other playboy billionaires.

His meeting with the hospital board of directors had let out late. Some sort of mess with funding to sort out. He suspected embezzlement and knew he'd be doing some detective work soon to uncover who. And to think, that was only his day job.

He had a long night of patrolling ahead. But first, he wanted to check on the self-defense teacher. No doubt she was home already, if she had come in at all today. After the bad news this week, he hoped she was taking some time off.

He hadn't yet been able to examine her office for clues about the Note Writer, though he was already certain he knew who it was.

He had already made sure the nearby security camera had a temporary malfunction. He picked the lock quickly and stepped into her office.

The first thing that struck him was the large vent, cover loose and hanging by a single screw. His eyes narrowed. _So that's where he was hiding. Typical, he always could fit in small spaces... Like me._

There was a pristine piece of paper on her desk. The fourth and likely final note. He doubted this note was left here for Danielle but rather was put here to taunt the police. He looked around and spotted a scarf hanging from a coat rack. He tied it around his face. If there was another fine sheen of that toxin coating this paper... well, he could do without more nightmares.

When he read the note, his fears were confirmed:

* * *

**_S_**_o many chances wasted,_

**_C_**_rushed and disregarded in haste!_

**_A_**_nd now your time draws near;_**_  
_**

**_R_**_eveal to me your deepest fears!_

**_E_**_rrant was your predecessor__,_

**_C_**_orpse she is now made to fester._

**_R_**_ather you hoped you would fare better -_

**_O_**_r will the Scarecrow see you deader?_

**_W_**_hen I find you, we will see..._

* * *

He dropped the note. The Scarecrow! "I was right." His mind was working even as he headed to the door. The notes had been coated in fear toxin; small amounts were nightmare-inducing, and the amount he used was so subtle... Batman hated to imagine what a full dose would do.

The last note, like the others, was an acrostic poem; the first letter of each line read vertically formed a word, in this case, the Note Writer's own name. Scarecrow had been taunting them from the very beginning! A contract job, no doubt, but knowing Scarecrow... Some part of this was for his own sick amusement too. Usually the Riddler was the one who enjoyed leaving puzzles, but most of his Rogues Gallery enjoyed a good mindgame. And there was no one who could mess with your brain quite like Doctor Crane.

The self-defense teacher was in terrible danger! Most likely he was already with her. He needed to hurry, start by checking her apartment. Batman finally reached the roof and began suiting up. He hoped he wasn't too late.

* * *

The ground was cold, but not hard. _Where am I?_

The soft smell of wisteria lingered in the air.

She opened her eyes. _Couldn't be._

She was lying on a dirt floor. The wind that blew past seemed to glisten silver. It carried the fine strands of dust out and away, across the grand valley before her. Orange and lemon trees surrounded her.

_She was home._

Her farm was ahead. She wasn't dreaming, she was really here! She stood up and raced to it.

Something was wrong. She couldn't put her finger on it. She slowed as she approached the gate. Everything was too quiet.

Where were her parents and sisters and brother? Where were all the children?

The gravel crunched beneath her feet. The noise seemed deafening. She craned her head up and stared at the sky. Flat-bottomed, dark cumulonimbus clouds were moving in. The air smelled damp and heavy... and strange. As if something were decaying.

She ducked her head in thought. Only then did she realize what she was walking on.

Not gravel. _Teeth._

Pure white teeth littered the ground, so deep she couldn't see the soil beneath. Her stomach churned as she realized that the entire path was made of teeth. The smell was unsettling. Quickly she hurried off the path.

The wind blew and she swore she heard it whisper mockingly to her. The path of teeth was leading to her house. She didn't want to go inside.

She ran for the produce fields instead.

Her feet whispered across the soil. She didn't know where to go. There were the greens ahead, and beyond that, the carrots. The stables were close to here... Should she go there?

She stumbled across a small clearing. The wisteria smelled especially strong here. There was a shower of petals blowing in the wind, like purple raindrops. Then the scene changed. Lightning flashed, and the petals were blood red, running in currents through the soil.

Ahead were the wheat fields. In the center of it stood a scarecrow, its head gone. Something about it spooked her; it looked too much like a person. Reluctantly she turned back to the main trail made of teeth. It led beyond her house.

Here were the stables. She couldn't hear the horses, but something was moving inside...

She threw open the door.

Time slowed. When she finally took in what she was seeing, she screamed.

Her father, mother, older sisters, and younger brother lay bodies facing down in the hay.

She kept screaming.

The bodies of children - no doubt her cousins, nieces, and nephews - surrounded them. At least she believed it was them. She recognized her youngest niece's doll in her outstretched hand, a certain outfit on one of the boys-

_They all were missing their heads._

Danielle screamed until her throat was hoarse, her pained cries echoing through the valley.

* * *

Hours later, it seemed, she was wandering the produce fields again. She had to get away from here... But where would she go? There was evil stalking the land... It would find her, no matter where she went.

Somehow she wandered into the pumpkin fields. There was an especially large one in the center of the patch. She came closer... It was a thing of beauty, huge and nearly round, and seemed to be glowing slightly. She gasped with delight; the veins in the long green stem _were _glowing, pumping magic into the pumpkin.

The clopping of horse hooves interrupted her reverie. The evil was returning! She knew it somehow. If she could reach the tall grass, then maybe she could hide-

Her feet were stuck! She looked down. The vines from the magical pumpkin were binding her in place!

She struggled fruitlessly. The steps were getting closer!

Into the clearing rode a magnificent black steed. Steam shot from its nostrils. The clouds above had extinguished the rays of the sun, and the air was dark and foreboding. Atop the mount was the tall, bean-pole thin scarecrow from the fields.

It was still missing its head.

As Danielle watched with horror and astonishment, the scarecrow made a beeline for her. She gasped, resuming her struggles.

In the scarecrow's hand emerged a scythe, glowing as if made from fire.

The scarecrow raised the scythe. Danielle shrieked.

_Thunk!_ The blade embedded in the pumpkin. With a mighty heft, the scarecrow wrenched the pumpkin free from the earth and took it in its hands.

"Oh no-" She knew what was coming next.

Slowly and deliberately, the scarecrow placed the pumpkin on its empty shoulders. The orange skin began to glow and the flesh moved, fearsome eyes cut out with an invisible knife, a jagged sneer - a jack o'lantern for a head. The scarecrow looked down at her with a sinister expression, then threw back his new head, and laughed and laughed. As he laughed, his head burst into flames.

Somehow his exertions in freeing the pumpkin had loosened the vines. Shaking with terror, Danielle yanked her feet free and tore off through the tall grass. She could hear the monstrous mount's hoofbeats behind her, feel the scorching wind from the burning jack o'lantern.

_Swoosh!_ She felt the wind from the scythe as the scarecrow swiped at her. He was the Headless Horseman, the Grim Reaper - and he meant to reap her!

She dodged left and heard the horse scrambling to correct itself.

She crouched low in the grass to avoid his gaze. Here the grass was higher, several feet tall, wheat ready for the harvest. It concealed her well. An orange glow caught the corner of her eye and she held perfectly still. Her own heartbeat sounded faintly in her ears over the roaring wind… and the mocking laughter.

Then suddenly the orange glow blazed brightly, and Danielle realized with alarm that the field was burning. She caught sight of the scarecrow holding the scythe to the tall grass like a makeshift torch. He held her in his gaze, and she shivered and fled again.

Lungs screaming, she stopped. No sounds of hoofbeats. No fire here. She was safe. She-

_Whoosh!_ The huge black steed materialized in front of her. She stumbled back, tripping over a large rock, and raised her arms protectively.

The horse whinnied, rearing up, and the scarecrow cackled maliciously, raising the scythe above his head.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the giant rock. It wasn't a rock. It was a box, she realized, made of cherry, with an enso symbol on it.

The scythe descended, and the last thing she heard was the scarecrow's laughter and the cawing of ravens as they took flight.

* * *

Shattered glass littered the ground, and two bookshelves lay overturned. The window was open now, and a blast of cold air washed in aggressively. Scarecrow stood in the darkness of her apartment, watching the self-defense teacher struggle, like a fly caught in a spider's web. Her limbs were jerking, but aside from the occasional whimper, she wasn't making any noise. He wondered what she saw. Was it delightfully frightful? Was she just dying of fear?

He wanted to take notes, but the syringes on his hand made writing difficult. He sighed and lowered the clipboard.

"Subject appears to be growing more subdued," her murmured to himself. "Another dose ought to liven her up." The syringes slipped into her arm, and a choked scream slipped out between her clenched lips.

She was already reacting marvelously to the initial dose. He had gassed the elevator as she returned to her humble home; she never stood a chance. And when she walked in the door and discovered that the phone was dead, she had fallen perfectly into his trap. This particular fear toxin was different from its predecessors. In small doses it induced nightmares - as she had no doubt discovered from the notes. In larger doses, well, it didn't appear to do anything at first… Until the subject first experienced a strong sensation of fear. _That_ was what triggered the toxin's effects. From there, they could be in their own private nightmare world for hours… days… until death. Death of fear, death of starvation, death because someone decided to murder them while they were oblivious… It didn't matter. They were totally disconnected from reality… _totally at his mercy_.

The syringes were now a quarter empty into her bloodstream.

How much more could she take?

Scarecrow watched her body slowly straighten up, spasms wracking her. She turned her head slightly and appeared to be waiting for… something. Perhaps a little power of suggestion would give him an interesting result.

He leaned close to her ear and began whispering instructions.

Her head bolted, but she didn't look at him. Instead, she took a tentative step forward. Behind his mask, Scarecrow smiled darkly.

"Keep going, my dear… And show me what you fear!"

**-/-/-/-/-**

**A/N: **Yay! The Note Writer's identity has finally been revealed! :D You all had great guesses! Sorry it wasn't Riddler - I honestly don't think I'm smart enough to write him, lol. Guest, you were right, I read "The Long Halloween" recently, so that might be where some of Scarecrow's rhyming comes from. Watched _Sleepy Hollow _(the one with Christina Ricci) recently, so that's where some of the inspiration for the nightmare scarecrow comes from as well...

The inspiration for the acrostic poems came from another storywriter on here - my friend Comix777! :) He has a very clever one in one of his stories, and I got inspired. Check his work out! :D

Til the next chapter! :)


	13. Chapter 12: Ascension

Thank you everyone for the reviews, they make my day! :) Batfangirl, your prize for guessing the Note-Writer correctly is: a one-shot fic! With two characters I know you like! ;) Check my profile for your reward fic "The Great Glove-Off" and Congratulations! :D

A/N: I don't own Batman. They'd throw me in Arkham if I said that...

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**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Twelve: ASCENSION-**

_Cold. So cold._

The texture beneath her fingertips suggested snow. But how? It was still autumn in the field. There was a distant roaring sound, like the wind howling through a cave. Her skin prickled.

Slowly Danielle opened her eyes. The nausea that swept through her made her close them again immediately.

_Where was she?_

She had caught a glimpse of a strange white haze, floating down from overhead. The light was weird. Was she… dead after all? Was she in heaven?

She bolted upright, her eyes flying open. Two things immediately registered.

The white haze _was _snow.

She was _on a mountain!_

Her stomach lurched as she registered just how high up she was. How…? How was she here? She scanned her environment carefully for clues.

This place was… beautiful. Ethereally so. And strangely familiar. Pure white snowflakes drifted down effortlessly, like falling cherry blossom petals. Crags of dark glittering rock peered out from the snow drift. She took a deep breath; the air smelled so clean, so unlike Gotham. The wind tousled her hair lightly.

_Am I dreaming?_

Cautiously she raised a hand to test the illusion. A snowflake landed softly on her cupped palm. The coldness was delicious and very _real_.

She staggered to her feet and looked around.

No one there. No demonic scarecrow riding a black mount. No signs of humanity either...

Wait. _Is that a trail?_

There were footsteps in the snow, several pairs, leading up the mountain. "HELLO!" Her voice echoed.

No answer.

She hesitated. _Should I follow the footprints? Or should I try to get off the mountain?_ She looked down...

"AAAAHHH!" She fell to the ground and clutched it with both arms.

_There was no base of the mountain!_ Danielle couldn't believe her eyes. Instead of land stretching out, the slopes dropped off into…nothingness! It was as if a big vortex lay directly beneath them, sucking in bits of snow and rock that fell down. She could see the golden eye of the vortex swirling faster and faster. Bile rose in her throat and she shivered uncontrollably. She didn't even want to imagine what would happen if she fell.

Fearfully, she craned her head up, looking for an escape, a safe place...

There! On the very top of the mountain… The sky was full of grey clouds, and against a small patch of them… There was a thin circle of light, with a dark shape inside. Almost like a beacon.

She squinted to make out the shape. It looked like… a bat!

Her eyes widened. Somehow, inexplicably, _the Bat-Signal_ was up there on the mountain's summit!

_Could it be Batman's footprints leading up the mountain?_ She felt a surge of hope.

"I don't know where I am, or what _that's_ doing here," she murmured to herself. "Nothing makes sense anymore…" She looked up, determination in her eyes. "But I have to get to that Bat-Signal! I just know it! Somehow… maybe the Batman will see it… and save me…"

She glanced over her shoulder. For the smallest second, she had heard a voice on the wind, laughing softly.

But no. Couldn't be. There was no one else here.

One thing did bother her as she began to ascend. The footprints were leading up the mountain… but none were leading back down.

* * *

"Keep going, my dear."

His victim struggled to move forward. It was a slow, agonizing walk, like a marionette rebelling against its strings. Her body wanted to shut down. With the delicious, overwhelming fear, it would sooner hibernate. But that wouldn't do. She wouldn't die right away if she did that. And she _needed_ to die soon.

Scarecrow listened to the words that burst from closed lips: "Batman… help me…"

He chortled. "He can't hear you, my dear! By the time he learns what has happened to you - and he will - it will be too late! Will that scare him? Knowing just how close he was to saving one more life? Will he fear his touch is slipping?"

He hoped that Batman had examined the notes himself. Scarecrow relished in the thought of causing the Batman a few nightmares.

What was the girl dreaming of? A world without Batman possibly? Or maybe a world of her students, all dead, and she helpless to stop it?

It wouldn't be the first time he had killed a self-defense teacher. Her predecessor was even more dedicated to the cause. She had been the creator and director of a great many programs at Gotham General Hospital, including the original self-defense class. Lies! That's what they were. As if that pathetic class could ever truly save the students from their demons… The bullies who kept tormenting them. Scarecrow gritted his teeth under his mask. A flash of himself, poor, tall, skinny, _bullied_ \- and then back to the present.

There was only one thing in the world that could master the bullies. _Fear._ Fear could master everyone.

Even the great Batman.

He remembered Batman's subtle fear as he passed through his boat in the harbor, during the infamous Arkham City days. That was what had given him the inspiration for his latest toxin - something that could break the mind over a longer period of time, provided it was used in the correct concentration. Sometimes it paid to be subtle. And in the case of his employer, who wanted drugs that could be used ideally for interrogations, being subtle _paid very well_.

He would gain the funds to continue his research. He would develop new strains of his toxin, until far and wide, he would be renowned at the All-Terrible God of Fear.

He began to hum, and a smile graced his masked face:

_"Row row row your boat, _  
_Gently down the stream, _  
_Merrily merrily merrily merrily, _  
_Life is but a dream."_

* * *

Past rocks sculpted by ice, she climbed. The air was slowly getting thinner up here.

_"Mmmhehehe…"_

She turned her head for the half-dozenth time. The wind was chuckling again. She decided there must be a cave of some sort nearby; the wind must be making a strange noise as it whistled through.

She ignored the prickling in her stomach.

"How'd I get up here anyway?" she wondered. "One minute I'm running from a demonic scarecrow, and the next-" She looked down again at the nothingness beneath the mountain, and finally one thing seemed to make sense. "Wait a minute… This _isn't_ normal! I _am_ dreaming!" She smiled in relief. "I'm in bed, safe at home, and none of this is really happening. This is a very strong dream, isn't it?" In an instant, she realized why this place seemed so familiar. "Oh my god…"

Over three years ago, while she was training to defend herself from Zsasz… There was a recurring dream she used to have.

_"I am the mountain!"_

She looked around frantically. There should be a cherry box close to here, with an enso symbol carved into the wood. What was inside the box? She couldn't remember!

Up ahead was a curve in the rock. She stopped in her tracks. Sniffed the air deeply. It smelled like-

Her heart rated jumped.

-Burning.

She started to tremble; she could see the reddish glow already. But her feet moved forward to confirm what she knew to be true.

When she rounded the corner, her mouth parted in horror. "Oh my god…"

_The sky was on fire._

Danielle fell to her knees, shivering and clutching her chest.

The wintry white beauty of the mountain was burning - tainted, stripped away, _ruined!_ What was once pure snow was now stained crimson. Ribbons of gore cascaded down from the hellish skies, cinders and lava sizzling and turning to sleet as they hit the frozen earth around her, scorching it, bleeding through the snow like rain - the unending fight between fire and water. Steam rose in the air. The ground was smeared and blackened with ashes.

Danielle stumbled backward onto her butt, shielding her face with a shaking arm. There was nowhere to hide! The sky was raining fire, and her mountain was in pain, bleeding, under attack! She knew that, unlike last time, the mountain was't erupting. "There is an evil here," she whispered through lips that were too parched, "An evil did this." And yet in spite of the bloody ruin, snowflakes still drifted down, both soot and crystals mingling in her eyelashes and with her tears.

It was as if heaven and hell were encountering each other here._ Purgatory._

_I need to get to the Bat-Signal quickly!_

She was looking up, trying to spot it, when the clouds parted.

Amidst the hellish red sky, she could see the moon, pale and lovely, with the rainbow ringing it, casting a strange light over the mountain. There was something wrong. The moon was too big—

"Oh… _There_ you are!"

That voice! As Danielle watched in horror, a giant hand suddenly came from the sky.

BOOM! The land shook. The hand had wedged itself in the earth. It wasn't an ordinary hand, she saw. On the tips of the fingers, there were needles, filled with a golden liquid - now embedded in the ground. She could hear the hiss as the liquid pumped in, like poison. Rage and dread filled her. How dare he infect her mountain?!

She knew who it was - not only by the voice, but by the terror that filled her heart.

She watched in disbelief as the scarecrow from the pumpkin field, now huge, loomed in front the moon. He was so big that she could only see his jack-o-lantern's face, still flaming. His eyes, like searchlights, found her.

Danielle screamed.

The flaming pumpkin-head chortled and the beams from his eyes swept straight toward her. She jumped out of the way. She felt rather than saw the ground erupt, the beam cutting through snow and rock in an explosion. _It could have been her!_

Luckily there was a ridge beneath the slope. She ducked. The search beams moved over her head. And then, to her horror, Danielle realized that the snow at her feet was evaporating! The ground was burning where the lights from the scarecrow's eyes gazed.

_"Silly teacher came to teach…"_ the malevolent voice boomed over the roaring winds. _"Little students came to learn…"_

Her head snapped up. _How did-?_

And then, in a burst of clarity, everything made sense.

_I'm being chased by a… a demonic **scarecrow**… That's it! This whole time…!_ It was so obvious she almost slapped herself. _Scarecrow… __My mystery Note Writer is the Scarecrow! He's after me just like he went after Mrs. Phillips' friend, the original self-defense teacher! She was trying to warn me!_ The very first time she had ever met Mrs. Phillips, the dear old secretary had said that Scarecrow had murdered her friend. Her eyes stung thinking of her now._ And now he got me trapped in his nightmare world! I need to get out of here!_

The searchlights continued to burn at her feet, while terror pounded through her.

_I need to get to that Bat-Signal!_ A surge of determination filled her. _If this is Scarecrow's world… Then all my worst fears must be in here. And because it's **his** world, whatever **he's** scared of is in here too. Why else would the Bat-Signal be here? He's scared of Batman._ She just knew it. _I need to call Batman!_

The ridge above her head was burning. She could smell her hair smoking.

_Ready…now!_

She jumped and landed several feet below, on a lower shelf covered with white snow. She looked up in relief. The scorching spotlights couldn't reach her. As she waited, the spotlights eventually went away - no doubt to look elsewhere for her.

She blinked. She had landed in a patch of flowers sticking up through the snow. She paused - she usually loved flowers - but there was something strange about these ones. Maybe it was the spiny bracts - they looked sinister. Or maybe it was the deep shade of blue the petals were, almost poisonous. They looked like a poppy of some sort.

_There's nothing wrong with these flowers. I'm getting paranoid._

She had crushed one underneath her. She picked it up thoughtfully.

_A skull._ She dropped it in alarm. For a moment, she had glimpsed a small black skull in the center of the flower, where the pistil ought to be.

_Just a hallucination,_ she told herself shakily.

Beyond the patch of blue flowers, there was a trail. It led past a bowl with a frozen lake. The area was low enough that she wouldn't be caught in the Scarecrow's gaze.

She crouched and crept along. Blue flowers lined the path. She tried not to look at them.

_BOOM!_

Something huge hit the ground above - she was sure she could guess what. Even though she couldn't see the demonic Scarecrow, the rocky ledge shook. She lost her footing.

"Who-o-aa!" _Crack!_

Dazed, she registered the sharp noise. She ran her hands frantically over her body. No injuries, though she was sore all over. A moment later, she realized where she was.

She was on the ice. And the cracking noise was the sound of the ice breaking-

* * *

_Crunch! _For him, the sound seemed to echo in the darkness.

She had finally reached the glass from the broken window. He had shattered it during his break-in. It was easy to sneak into her building, ride the elevator to the top floor, and descend from the rooftop using the fire escape. The hard part had been reaching through the sliding window and pushing over the bookshelves _without_ cutting himself on the sharp shards of glass, but he managed.

Her body quivered as the glass embedded itself in her foot, stabbing through the sole of her shoe. Blood smeared the floor in the wake of her gait. But she kept walking, heedlessly, as more glass met her path, the first piece plunging in deeper with each step-

* * *

"HAH!" The Scarecrow's laughter carried on the wind.

_BOOM! FTT! FTT! SSSS!_

Beyond the frozen lake was a patch of snow, maybe a meadow. She was so sure that the Scarecrow couldn't see down here. And yet there was his giant gloved hand, pumping into the frozen ground beneath the drift, turning the snow a vile yellow. As Danielle watched in horror, the yellow snow changed colors, first moss green, then brown, then rotting black. The hand withdrew, leaving four smoking holes, but she didn't dare move-

* * *

She was slowing down. Was her body becoming aware of the external pain? Not good. A little further and it would be alright, but for now, it was too soon.

He jabbed her arm with his needles. Just a sip more, _slip back under my control_-

* * *

The snow was writhing!

A hand stuck up, all grey bones. Danielle's heart hammered in her throat. Four skeletons digging, pulling themselves out from their rest. Created by Scarecrow.

Flesh began to grow on their bones. Four identical opponents, each bearing knives.

_Four Zsaszes_ smiled at Danielle eerily and began to cross the frozen lake.

**_-/-/-/-/-_**

_-0-_

_A/N: I apologize if this chapter is jumpy. No quiet time here lately, so it's been a lot harder to focus when writing. __Did anyone recognize the blue flowers from Batman Begins in this chapter? ;)_

_Almost forgot: Happy Father's Day everyone!_


	14. Chapter 13: Broken Glass

Thank you for your review, 4SeasonsChick! :) I always look forward to them!

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**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Thirteen: BROKEN GLASS-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

The ice creaked beneath Danielle's feet. Her footing slipped a little; the Zsaszes, by contrast, seemed to glide easily over the frozen lake, like ice weasels, sidling toward her with matching soul-sucking grins.

_I'm really screwed now, _she thought grimly. _I'm outnumbered, they're armed, and I'm not, and if they're anything like the Zsasz I know, they're fast as hell. _She breathed deeply._C'mon, Danielle, focus! Like you do during randori practice in Kairi's dojo. It'll be just like that… only on thin ice. With no footing. And the possibility of falling in and dying of either hypothermia or drowning! Yeah, let's do this!_

"Don't you guys have anything to say?" she taunted, "Something about how you're going to cut me up and bathe in the crimson rivers of my blood?" When they didn't answer, she scoffed. "At least the real one talks!"

Sure, it was usually about making the mark, or about offering the helpless piggies their "salvation" on his sacred murderous mission.. but Zsasz's rantings and ravings had become oddly… _comforting_ to Danielle. _In a psychotic, disturbing way._ That was the Zsasz she knew. These four imitations lacked what made him special: his _humanness_.

"You know, I realized something," she stalled as they formed a semi-circle around her. "You guys are just shadows in a land of apparitions. You're _zombies!"_ She laughed out loud. "You of all people, are zombies! The real Zsasz would be appalled." Then she cracked her knuckles and her smile dropped. "That means it's gonna be that much easier to kick your butts!"

The first Zsasz dashed toward her, knives shining against the cold bleak light. Danielle side-stepped him, and he pivoted. She was out of reach now, but he had succeeded in driving her closer to the others. _Well played,_ she thought bitterly.

Two more Zsaszes lunged, one from each side! She caught their arms, using their momentum to thrust herself backward off the line of attack, then reversed their grips. One dropped his knife. The other swung his body forward, aiming a blow for her face. _Swwwick!_ Blood dripped on the ice. Danielle gasped, the drops threading in her hair. _Let the pain help me focus!_

The ice!

She locked the Zsasz's arm and threw all her weight forward. Zsasz rolled with her, and she used the somersault's momentum to throw him. _Crack! _His head made a nasty sound as it hit the ice. And even though he was a nightmare apparition, no more real than anything else in this world, Danielle winced.

_Ssss! _The Zsasz's flesh began to melt. Tally marks ran into each other, and his bones softened and ran together like jello. A vile hissing began as the gloop changed colors, first acid yellow, then green, then brown. The ice was melting, growing unstable there. Danielle wondered what would happen if all four Zsaszes melted that way...

_Swwwick!_ She narrowly dodged the next strike, toppling forward on the ice. "OW!" Splintering pain in her knee. The next Zsasz leered down at her, a malicious smile on his face. A third one was approaching. She sucked in a deep breath. _Wait for it..._

She burst up when the other Zsasz was directly behind the first one. Neither of the zombies were expecting it, and the ice was indeed treacherous.

Danielle gave a little smirk of her own as they went flying backward, arms windmilling wildly.

One Zsasz tried to stabilize himself using his knife. The blade cracked the frozen lake, and with a scream, the two Zsaszes fell through into the freezing water below. A moment later, the hole bubbled with yellow gas. _Three down, one to go._

The final Zsasz stood in wait a short distance away, 20 paces at most. His expression hadn't changed; that same manic, yet oddly blank grin. It sickened her.

He cocked an arm. Danielle straightened her posture and readied her hands.

She wasn't expecting the first blow.

_Whooosh!_ The knife flew at her, a blur of silver, and Danielle tried to duck. She avoided the blade, but lost her balance. _Crack! _This time she had most definitely broken the ice.

The fourth Zsasz was on top of her suddenly, a second knife descending. She caught his wrist and rolled to one side. He wedged his leg up, pressing down into her torso. His proximity flustered her. They rolled on the ice, each jockeying for position, when the cracking sound got louder. They each had a split second to meet each others' eyes, horror dawning on both their faces, when the ice finally broke, plunging both of them down into its freezing depths.

* * *

**_In the darkened apartment..._**

They were standing on the other side of the glass now. Scarecrow wiggled his fingers impatiently; the syringes from the glove clicked together.

She stepped through the broken hole in the window. Cool winds from the balcony washed over them, rustling the teacher's long hair. Unconsciously, she shivered.

_Just a few more steps now, and she would be finished._

* * *

_The water, everywhere, so cold, weighing her down..._

_The light fading..._

_-Batman in her head, staring ominously at her-_

"Gyah!" A bedraggled brown head broke the surface.

She wasn't dead! But her arms were growing numb; her body was shutting down. So cold…

Danielle's breath came in short pants as she pulled herself up onto solid ice. Everything hurt. For what seemed like forever, she lay there, willing herself to get warm.

Finally she forced herself to get up, keep moving. It took a very long time to get off the frozen lake. Once she had, she faced the mountain with exhaustion, but even more determination.

_I will not let you win, Scarecrow!_

* * *

Walking helped. Not much, but it did.

A snowy graveyard lay just up the hill from the frozen lake. Almost thirty tombstones, all bearing names of her friends, family, and students…even Zsasz oddly. Each mound covered with the sinister blue flowers. _What kind of monster was Scarecrow, anyway?_

The path was getting steeper. She listened carefully for the roaring of fire, the sign that the Scarecrow was approaching.

_"Where are you?"_ Was that the wind, whispering?

She peered around the corner cautiously. Her heart leaped. The giant Scarecrow's eyes were focused on the ruined snowfield below. It looked so small now from up here. Her hair began to tingle, and she hid as the Scarecrow turned his gaze in her direction. Lazily the deadly golden beams swept the mountainside, seeming to linger on her hiding place. She held her breath. Could Scarecrow sense her fear?

On her hands and knees she crawled up the slope, avoiding his glare, and finally reached a flatter area.

Her mouth fell open. She was at the summit already! The Bat-Signal's bluish light shone against the stormy clouds overhead. That was it! If she could just sneak forward-

Suddenly the area was flooded with the scary light. _"What are you doing?"_ She ducked quickly down the slope. The gaze remained, and the snow was beginning to melt on her head. What if the Scarecrow could burn through the whole mountain? The thought panicked her. A quiet, menacing chuckle drifted over the high winds.

She took deep breaths. What would Batman do? What would Kairi-sensei do? _They would conquer themselves, before they attempted to conquer the mountain._ Slowly her heart rate dropped back down. As she began to think of a plan, the Scarecrow's lights suddenly left. Safe.

Whispering footsteps. She crept up to the ridge. _No turning back now._ One last breath, and she raced forward-

* * *

**_Outside the darkened apartment..._**

"Rise, my dear," the Scarecrow whispered, and the teacher raised her bloodied foot, placing it firmly on the fire escape railing-

* * *

**_In the nightmare world..._**

The Bat-Signal's metal was cool to the touch. She grunted as she tried to move it. _Where should I point it? Where will Batman see?_ Suddenly the wind roared, and those terrible beams swept along the summit and landed squarely on Danielle-

* * *

_**Outside the darkened apartment...**_

A second foot up on the fire escape-

* * *

**_In the nightmare world..._**

Danielle ducked behind the Bat-Signal as the snow around her turned to dust and then flames.

_"I see you!"_ the Scarecrow cackled in all his deranged joy.

Angrily, she gritted her teeth. _Die here? I don't think so!_

She heaved against the Bat-Signal, directly to where those murderous beams of light were coming from. She could see the rainbow moon behind the Scarecrow's head. "I'll blind you, you fucker!" she screamed into the wind. A single tear rolled down her face.

_For Greta!_

_"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"_ The giant Scarecrow howled as the Bat-Signal's light pierced him. Cracks appeared in his jack-o-lantern face, spreading out and out, until suddenly, with a great _BOOM!_ he exploded, pieces raining down onto the snowfield below.

Danielle collapsed beside the Bat-Signal with a groan.

It was over.

For a long time, she lay in the snow, gasping and thankful. Finally, she sat up.

Everything was back to normal. The snow was sprinkling peacefully, the sky no longer an orange-red but grey and mellow.

The Scarecrow was gone. So was the Bat-Signal.

It was really over. Now it was just her. Just her and the mountain.

Danielle shook her head to clear away the haze. One question occurred to her now: _How do I get down from here?_

_"This is just a dream…"_

She flinched a little. Looked like the wind was still speaking to her.

_"You don't have to descend slowly. You can jump."_

She looked over the edge. It was a long way down.

_"Jump. It's not hard at the bottom. It's just snow."_

Her stomach protested. It wasn't the normal safe way down. But Danielle's imagination, childish once again, told her that anything was possible in this dream world, even soaring off a mountain. No matter what, she would wake peacefully, now that Scarecrow was gone. There was nothing to worry about ...was there?

* * *

**_Outside the darkened apartment..._**

The self-defense teacher's hair was wild in the wind now. Her feet were on the top railing of the fire escape. No safety net. This was it. Silly teacher came to teach, and now it was time her classes burned, along with her noble cause.

The self-defense teacher was ready… _to die._

Scarecrow whispered one word:

"Jump."

* * *

**_Inside Danielle's dream..._**

_"Jump,"_ whispered the wind, and Danielle decided she would oblige.

For the briefest moment, she wondered if she might fly.

She took one step off the side of the cliff-

* * *

**_CRASH! _**The window broke even more as a black shape hurtled out of the night, spearing the self-defense teacher before she could fall. Batman flared his cape, and he and Danielle burst into the living room, rolling onto the broken glass, away from the window.

The shadow of the night lifted his head, fearsome eyes peering into the darkness.

"Crane!"

He heard a rustle of burlap and saw the supervillain's silhouette as he fled through the front door.

The self-defense teacher was in bad shape. Cuts all over, a piece of glass wedged in one foot. But worst of all, needle marks in her left arm. Batman's eyes widened. The marks were turning black, no doubt Scarecrow's toxin making their rounds. He counted eight syringe marks - two doses! Too much!

"Ugh… ughhh…"

Danielle's eyes were open and unseeing. Her throat gurgled, soft choked noises coming out, and she clawed at the air with her hands. She was going into shock!

In the blink of an eye, Batman plunged the syringe into her heart. The antidote pumped in.

Danielle Lee gasped and threw back her head. Batman held her body still as it shuddered, fighting not to die. Tears were running down her face, but she couldn't speak. "C'mon, Danielle! Pull through." He dialed 911 as he watched her writhe. "Operator! We have an emergency at 3203 West Ellis Street, apartment 710. A young woman has gone into shock. Send help immediately!" The elevator dinged in the hallway, but he knew it wasn't the paramedics. _Someone was going down._

"C'mon, Danielle…" He didn't want to imagine what nightmares she had seen to make her this way. He knew well enough from his own run-ins with the malevolent Dr. Crane.

Gently, he brushed the sticky hair back from her face. It had an effect: she shut her eyes. A few moments later, her body relaxed and her breathing deepened. He checked her pulse - 50 bpm. She was going to be OK.

He sighed and stood up. He wanted to stay with her until the paramedics arrived, but there was a maniac on the loose. He took one last look down at her - "Sleep well now," and with that he was gone.

* * *

"CRANE!"

The bellow filled him with such delicious terror. The Bat was soon to catch him and punish him… He didn't know how Batman had managed to interrupt his appointment with the teacher, but it didn't matter anymore. With the dose of fear toxin he had given her, her heart would give out soon enough, hours before anyone came for her.

When he was finished with Batman...

He stopped and tilted his head. Shadows flickered; that streetlamp really needed a new bulb. Or perhaps it was the late autumn leaves spiraling down. This time of year always made him think of Sleepy Hollow. The brown and dying leaves falling around the dilapidated Church, with his grandmother screaming prayers and curses into the wind… The fluttering of wings-

He felt the wind shudder and knew, in an instant, that the great black Bat had landed behind him.

"CRA-"

_SSSSSSS!_

The gas exploded into Batman's cowled face, courtesy of the dispenser Scarecrow had hidden up his sleeve. Batman's jaw slackened for just a moment… And then, before Scarecrow's delighted eyes, the rodent crumpled forward, hands clutching his mask. The madman whooped triumphantly and then gazed almost pityingly at his adversary. _Tsk, tsk. He really should know better than to sneak up when the scientist is working! Hah! That worked quicker than I imagined… What are you afraid of, little bat?_ His technical mind began to catalogue: subject is more subdued, growing woozy and listing from side to side... Delightful!

"Tell me what you see," he hissed over the vigilante's coughing.

"Hck- hck- I- hck- see- you-"

Scarecrow leaned forward.

_POW!_

"OW!" The vigilante unexpectedly clocked Scarecrow in the face.

"I see you haven't learned anything from our last confrontation, Crane." Batman looked up into the mad doctor's eyes and... he… _smiled._

"How?! How could you adapt so quickly- ulp!" The black gauntleted hand was now around his neck, fingers clenched.

"I knew you had something up your sleeve when you were wearing this outfit! In spite of being fitted with syringes, you only wear this when you're planning to use an aerosol version of your toxin! Your mask is a rebreather - keeps you from getting a dose of your own medicine!" Batman ripped off the Scarecrow's mask. "Now TALK!" Scarecrow cried out as Batman bent his wrist backward, straining the tendons dangerously. "Tell me who hired you, or prepare to face your worst nightmares! I know how your gas works - you're terrified right now! One puff of this, and you're in Nightmareland!"

"Does-" Crane tried to gloat, "Does the Batman feel frustrated at failing to save another life? _Scared_, maybe, that he's losing his touch-?" Batman heard a slight crack._"YAAAAAAHHHH!"_ Scarecrow gasped for breath.

"That was only a minor fracture. Give me a straight answer, or I _will_ gas you, Crane!"

"It w-was the Falcone family, of c-course," he spoke though gritted teeth. "Are you ruh-really that dim that you couldn't put it together? And Edward... _claims_ you are actually a fair rival-"

"I saw the Falcone's paperwork on your ship back in Arkham City. I wondered when he would be requiring your services."

"Of course you did. I was _observing_ you while you were poking around in there. Did you have any nightmares after your visit? _Mmmehehahaha_…"

"So Falcone hired you to kill the self-defense teacher. Why?!"

"She's bad for business. The Falcones had a matter with one of her students. They weren't able to get as much information as they needed from him; he was uncooperative. Mr. Falcone blames her classes, naturally."

"And were you asked to do this, or did you volunteer personally?"

"I was _paid_ to do this. And yes, I volunteered for the job."

"Why?" Batman spoke quietly. "I would figure you of all people, Crane, would see some good in these classes. All your youth you were bullied, first by your grandmother, then by the kids at school… Wouldn't you want to see other people avoid your fate?"

"You don't get it, Batman, do you? With my weapons, no one can bully me again. It doesn't matter who they are. No one is stronger than fear!" Dr. Crane smiled. Batman stared at his demented, contorted face - thin, almost nerdy, but with an inhuman hatred sparking behind those eyes - joy almost, at the power he held over his victims - and he found Dr. Crane's real face even scarier than Scarecrow's. "Crime pays, Batman. The self-defense teacher sells her students a lie, a belief that if they are just strong enough, then they can be invincible to anything. No one is invincible to fear." He smiled, showing shiny teeth. "And now she's lying, dying on the floor, having a heart attack as we speak. It doesn't matter that she didn't go tumbling out the window - it would have been poetic, by the way. The dose I gave her was too much. You are too late to save her."

"You poisoned her for weeks." Batman's voice shook with anger. "You left your toxin on her notes, and left trace amounts of it in the air in her office. She must have felt as if things weren't quite right, as if she were slowly going mad, but without knowing why! You killed one of her students - you orphaned two kids when you killed their mother in front of them! And then your grand finale… making the teacher jump off her fire escape, appearing to have committed suicide from the stress of it all! You're sick, Crane! A monster! What could make you hate her so much?"

"I didn't hate her. It was all in the name of science."

"Do me a favor," Batman growled as the police sirens began to approach them from the distance. "When you get to Arkham, send Dr. Kellerman my regards. Tell him that the antidote he prepared worked like a charm." Batman released the Scarecrow, and the villain realized that Batman had tied him up as they talked. He slumped against the side of a car and glared up at the masked menace. "He defeated you, Crane. _Again._"

Batman disappeared, and Crane could do nothing but wait patiently for the police to arrive... and be thankful that the Bat hadn't done worse than a fractured wrist...

* * *

_The world moving… Molasses slow…_

_The sluggish sensation of eating too much junk food..._

"Ughhh…"

Something crunched under her. Not snow - _glass_.

Danielle's eyes fluttered open.

"Oh God no…"

When she tried to sit up, pain shot through her left arm. Her foot didn't feel so great either. But her thoughts were clear. For the first time in weeks, the fog was gone.

It was dark, but she knew where she was. She would know that smell of tea and old rice anywhere._ Her apartment._

It was as if a hurricane had gone through it. Two bookshelves lay overturned, books and training gear and photo albums strewn about the floor. A frosty breeze blew in through her shattered window; glass lay everywhere glittering in the dim streetlight from outside. The front door was wide open. Her home, like her, had been utterly violated.

_Scarecrow!_

Danielle bolted to her feet - or tried to. With a cry she fell down, only now seeing the huge shard of glass sticking out of her shoe, embedded in her foot. There was blood all over the sole.

"Shit!" she peered through the darkness. Where was he? She had to get up, get to the phone or a weapon of some kind! She was a sitting duck if she stayed there! Where was the phone?!

"No time to be gentle," she murmured before yanking the glass free of her shoe. The sensation of tearing skin was horrible, but it wasn't as bad as she had feared. She pulled off her shoe and looked down at the cut. The First Aid Kit was still on the coffee table. She began to crawl over to it, when her hand brushed something sticking out of the wooden floor. Her mouth fell open in astonishment._  
_

A batarang.

_Batman! He came after all. He saved me from the nightmare world!_ Tears of joy sprang into her eyes. _He probably chased Scarecrow away! I'm safe._

Problems one and two solved; now she needed to find the phone and call the police. Images were flooding her head now, of Cindy and Mrs. Phillips on the park bench, throats cut - and her family lying dead in the straw, heads missing. _Would Scarecrow really do something like that?_

She found her cell phone. Looking down at the screen, panic swept through her.

_7 missed calls from Dante._

She began to shiver uncontrollably. Cindy's boyfriend never called her. He never needed to. Unless something had happened.

She listened to the first message: _"Hey, it's Dante. Are you still out with Cindy? She said she'd be home by eight, and she's not picking up her phone. I was just wondering if she was still with you. Please call me back, it's getting late. It's almost ten now. Peace!"_

_OhGodOhGodOhGod…_ Again, she saw her best friend dead on the park bench in the cold moonlight. _Not __Cindy! Oh God, my dream was real!_

With shaking hands, she began to dial the police. 9-

BRIIING! Her phone rang in her hand. She looked down at the caller ID. _Cindy Gibson. _"Thank God!" Danielle picked up the phone, smiling shakily, "Cindy! Thank God you called! Listen-"

"Cindy's not... _in_ at the moment."

Fear hit her like a bucket of ice.

_Zsasz._

"But I would be happy to take a message for her, after her salvation, of course. The little piggy is _dying_ to speak to you."

Was she still in the nightmare world? _Was this really happening?_ She felt sick.

"What have you done to Cindy?" she asked slowly.

"Oho, so worried! You have no faith in me, do you, Danielle?"

_Why him? Why, of all people, did it have to be him?_

"I'll do anything you want."

"I bet you will!"

"Please let her go."

"That…depends on you, my sweet Danielle. There's a special game I want to play. Just me and you."

"Name it."

"You have a choice to make. See, your little piggy's not alone." Danielle's heart plummeted at each word Zsasz spoke. "I have _three_ little piggies here with me, just waiting for me to cure them of life. Precious people of _yours, _Dani dearest! Now the question, my sweetheart," he said, his soft voice turning sinister, "is, which _one_ will you save?"

**_-/-/-/-/-_**


	15. Chapter 14: Captivated

_20 reviews! :D Thank you everyone!_

_4SeasonsChick, so true, Zsasz just doesn't quit, does he?_

Scarecrow owns Batman. There I said it, please don't gas me! AHHHHH!

-0-

**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Fourteen: CAPTIVATED-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

The line crackled. Zsasz must be in a place with poor reception. Danielle was frozen, nails biting the wood of the coffee table, as she stared blankly in front of her. Zsasz's words reverberated in her ears.

"_You have three of my friends_?"

"I can hear the fright in your voice," the madman cooed. "How delectable, Danielle! How does it feel to know I am holding your life's meaning in my hands?"

_Pieces of glass littering the floor, a thousand shards of a window once whole._

"You have no… _concept_… of how difficult it is to not liberate these zombies right here and now," he chortled, and Danielle cringed. "I can barely contain myself! Your _best_ friend is drawing ever nearer to receiving her permanent salvation…" His voice grew higher, "And as I look into her eyes, I can almost _feel_ my blade slip across her flesh as her body pours red and her life fades." She could imagine Cindy's terror; there was a horrifyingly good chance that Zsasz was staring into Cindy's eyes this very minute, making his macabre promises. The girl's stomach twisted. "Where should I pose her, Danielle? Where should I make her mark? Would you like it next to yours, on my heart?"

_She was totally helpless to stop him. All she could do was sit here and LISTEN to him threaten her friends. Never mind the bad dreams - **this** was truly her worst nightmare._

"Or perhaps I should liberate this old woman first. She hasn't got long for the world anyway, has she, at her…advanced age. I could pose her at her desk in the hospital lobby, cold dead fingers just…typing away."

His words made all too much sense. "Mrs. Phillips… You have her too." She felt sick all over imagining Zsasz harming the fragile old secretary. She strained hard to hear her friends' voices, any sign that they weren't already dead. _Nothing._ Nothing except for Zsasz's raspy breathing. "Who else do you have?" She braced herself, knowing that no matter who it was, the answer would be horrible.

"I'll give you a little hint, Dani dearest. It's one of your students."

_Oh no, oh no, no no no. Scott? Theodore? Monica?_ _Cecil? Who? __God, not another one!_

"Take me in their place."

"So it's your precious student you wish to save?"

"Please, let _all_ of them go. You can have me instead. You don't have to hurt them. Please."

"Don't be so impatient…!" he sounded amused. "That's _my_ little weakness. And I'll have you too eventually…more than I already do…"

"You don't have to do this."

"You should have thought about that before you walked away, Danielle, and again when you hung up on me! You should have known someone would pay for your rudeness! Did you really think you could make a fool of me?! You have...ignored me for the last _time,_ Danielle."

The sudden sharp anger in his voice terrified her. There was nothing, absolutely nothing that would prevent him from slaughtering all three of her friends if he were to lose his temper right now.

"I'm sorry, Zsasz. I didn't mean to ignore you. I—I haven't been myself lately."

"I noticed. You've been turning into more of a _zombie_ lately."

"There's a reason for it…! I found out the person who wrote the notes."

"The secret admirer?" He paused. "Who was it?"

"It was Scarecrow!"

"Scarecrow? Ohohohoho! You expect me to believe that?"

"He was here in my house! He just tried to kill me! He gassed me up and—"

"If Scarecrow poisoned you, then why aren't you dead, Danielle?"

_Because Batman saved me. _ "I don't know."

"I think you are lying to me. In fact, I think you've been lying to me about a great number of things. Why would you do that, when I am so close to liberating you from your precious people?"

"Please don't hurt them! Just tell me where you are and-"

"Why don't you beg me a little more, Danielle? The way you used to beg for _Matthew's_ life to be spared. You remember precious, vacuous Matthew Summers, don't you? I wonder, is one of these piggies your new boytoy, Danielle?"

_What is he talking about?! _"I don't have a boyfriend! I haven't since—since—"_  
_

"Really?" he asked icily. "What if I were to ask _this fine young man here?_ Piggy, what's your name?" _SLAM!_ "Tell me your name!"

Sobbing. "Theodore. My name's Theodore!" _So that's who he got. My best student. _Her heart sank._  
_

"That wasn't hard."

"Ms. Danielle," in spite of his predicament, the shy young man tried to yell into the phone, "Don't trade yourself! He's got knives, he's—"

"I think that's more than enough information, don't you?" There was a fumble as Zsasz turned away abruptly, leaving his captive in tears. "Now, tell me something, Danielle! This Theodore? Who is he to you?"

"He's my student, Zsasz."_  
_

"Really? Then why did I see you hugging him in the secluded courtyard in the hospital?!"

She blanched. "You were there?"

"Of course. Oh, don't sound so guilty, darling!"

"If you were there… then you would have seen me hugging _all_ of my students." Her skin prickled. If he had seen her whole class, then that meant _every single one of them_ was at risk again. After everything Scarecrow had put them through, now Zsasz was a threat to them.

"I did see you hug the others. But this one lingered. Don't tell me you're not involved with him, not with that level of intimacy. I don't hardly believe you've hugged even _me _for that long!"

_Oh my God… Zsasz is jealous of Theodore.__ He doesn't want anyone getting close to me, because he's a controlling bastard and... _Her breath left her lungs ..._And because he still thinks he has a claim over me, after everything. Because we slept together… because we connected… Because he marked me!_

Her student was in terrible danger right now, the worst danger of the three. _I'm so sorry, Theodore._

"Theodore had convinced everyone to come back to classes, Zsasz. They were scared because of what Scarecrow had done to Greta, and he got them all together to ask me to keep teaching after I cancelled the lessons. I was thanking him for not letting us give up."

"The boy was red as a tomato, Danielle. He still is now!" He tried to laugh, but a bitter sound came out instead. "I can guarantee, you might not have any feelings for him, but he most certainly has them for you! You should know something about me, Danielle. I don't share. Do not choose to save him; I won't let you!"

"For God's sake, Zsasz, he's not my boyfriend! I haven't been with anyone since you!" She clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Really? You mean in all of this time, you have been with no one else? Or are you just saying that you let some pig use you for a night—"

"No one has touched me since you, Zsasz!" Her face burned at her own admission, and at the vivid memories that came up suddenly. She closed her eyes, glad Zsasz couldn't see her now. If he could...

"I don't believe you. I can hear the hesitation in your voice. I remember the way you felt against me, hungry, the way you couldn't get enough. It's been what kept me going for the past three years. Believe me, I have a very good memory of our time together… All the glorious little marks on your body that I touched, one by one." As he spoke, she could almost feel his finger ghosting across her scars. She bit her lip. "You mean to say you went without that marvelous sensation willingly for all this time? Somehow pure of heart to only me?"

"Please, Zsasz! Let's not- Let's not talk about this over the phone-"

"They cannot hear us, Danielle. They are in the other room. Though I don't see how it matters if they do hear us… since only one of them will be alive to repeat it. Or is it that you don't want others listening in on our pillow talk, my Alive Girl? I could save it for the bedroom if you wish..."

"Please-"

"Oho! I understand what's going on now…" Zsasz's voice became sly. "Could it be that you're keeping secrets from your dear friends, Dani dearest? Could it be that you never told a soul about our great romance, once upon a time?"

_How could she? No one would understand. Even she couldn't._

"You never told anyone about our time together, our shared sacred understanding of life, did you? And that is why the silly boy believes he has a chance." He chuckled. "Are you so ashamed of what we are together, Danielle? Or are you afraid of showing them your true self?"

"They know my—"

"No," he sighed. "No they don't. No one knows you the way I do. I _made you._" He sounded so calm suddenly. So assured… He was back in control again, for now. "You liked fighting me on that bridge, just as you liked it when I took you to bed and marked you. Don't deny it. You are violent and unpredictable, just like me."

"No, I'm—"

"I would be careful disagreeing with me too much, Danielle! I don't know if you care that I hold your piggies' **_lives_**_ in my hands!_ Now… what are you like again?"

"I'm—"

"You are violent and unpredictable."

"I… am violent and unpredictable."

"Just like me."

"…Just… like… you," she whispered.

"Very good. You see, you made a mistake in looking for meaning in your friends. They have diluted your true self, turned you into a zombie. You will see. I will free you once again."

She choked on her words. "You're going to kill them so I'll be alone again."

"It worked for me. When my parents died, it was not intentional. And yet their deaths ultimately led to my greater understanding of life. Your friends have weakened you, Danielle… _Why else would you have forgotten me over the last three years?!" _His anger was back in full force and it terrified her. She could imagine him gesticulating with his knife, closer and closer to stabbing them-

"I- I didn't- I couldn't-"

"You never asked! You never cared! When I came back, you just… walked away. Just like that. As if I didn't matter… as if what we had never existed."

He was right. She lowered her head shamefully even though he couldn't see it. She had spent months trying to convince herself that none of it was real. Those shameful memories of finding comfort in the arms of a murderer… Every conversation they had, burned into her… She had tried so hard to make herself believe that her feelings for him were the result of Stockholm's Syndrome, and that his feelings were a silly infatuation combined with a lust for power. The denial hadn't worked, of course: she could never deny that they had some sort of connection. But she thought it was over. It had to be over.

She took a deep breath before she confessed: "I never stopped thinking about you, Zsasz. I've thought about you every single day you've been gone." She smiled bitterly. "You've never really gone away." She had told him this on the night they had first reunited, when she realized that his marks were gone - but it was different now. It was more than her survivor's guilt she was admitting to now.

As much as Zsasz wanted to, he couldn't deny the truthfulness in her voice. "Then why, Danielle? Why did you never search for me?"

"You were dead, Zsasz."

"Obviously I wasn't! You never recovered my body. Why did you give up and assume I was gone?"

"You didn't come back until-"

"Until two weeks ago. Have you ever… wondered, Danielle… what I was doing these past three years? Where I was? How many people I killed during that time? Why don't you ask me? Show a little interest in my life!"

"You- You were hearing voices." She spoke quietly. "When I ran into you, you didn't remember your marks. Zsasz… something bad happened to you, didn't it?"

"And what if it did?"

Her heart skipped a beat. "Tell me."

"No. No, I think we've delayed long enough, don't you? And your piggies have been waiting so patiently, ahahahahaaa! Here's the game… Your three friends are a short cut away from leaving their mundane existences and _floating_ into oblivion. Two of them will, no matter what. You just have to choose which one to save. I will give you only a short time to decide, and then I will call you back."

"But—"

"If you take too long to choose, then I will kill all three of the piggies. And don't try to get out of it by not answering my phone! We'll see how long your answering machine can capture the moments of them dying. You can listen to it over and over again for the rest of your life! Goodb-"

"Wait! Please, wait."

"What is it?"

"Please let me talk to them!"

"Let you—Do I look stupid?"

"Please… I just want to hear that they're all alive. That's it."

"Very well. Though I won't let you talk to Theodore, I think you've had more than enough time with him today. So you know, if you choose him to save, he'll die anyway. He cannot have you."

"He's not my—"

"Here's piggy number two…"

"My dear!"

"Mrs. Phillips, are you alright?"

"I'm-" There was a rustling sound.

"She put up a valiant effort to free the other two in exchange for her own life. Very valiant indeed. Should I let her, Danielle?"

"Please." Danielle's throat was thick. "Please let me talk to Cindy."

"Very well."

"Dani…" A soft voice.

"Cindy! Oh God, I'm so sorry-"

"Listen, Dani, don't be hasty with your decision. Take time to mill it over, I mean mull—"

"And that's all the time we have left!" Zsasz cackled. "Talk to you very soon, my Alive Girl. Ring ring..." he whispered, and the phone clicked off as he hung up.

* * *

It was marvelous. The fear in her voice! He surely had her attention now.

Zsasz smiled at the hostages across the room. They were in large cages, rusting bars making reddish streaks against their clothes. Like blood. Soon his knife would bathe. He laughed softly to himself, and two of the hostages flinched.

"Which of you will she save?" he mused softly to himself. He took out a knife and idly swiped at the bars of the nearest cage. "Hahahahahaaaa…"

The zombie in the cage adjusted his broken glasses nervously. Zsasz fought a snarl. He would die first. He would make sure Danielle heard it.

She would be alone again. Two of her friends would die, and the survivor would be forced to watch. Watch as he _brutally_ liberated the other two, their screams echoing in this dank dungeon of a room, their blood pooling on the floor… Oh, it was really a gift he was giving to his Alive Girl. They burdened her! And she could not see it! With this, she would become a recluse again. Yes. She would be his again before long.

His hand itched impatiently. Absently, he raised a hand to scratch his chest. New tally marks covered it now, but they weren't finished scarring. He needed to pick the scabs, make the scars deeper. The ones on his forehead itched the most.

He had a much darker plan, of course. As extra insurance, he would be sure to make the liberations extra traumatizing for the survivor. He might even leave the survivor with a few…_mementos_ of their time together. The survivor was sure to hate Danielle for putting them in this predicament. They would abandon her. The bonds among these miserable people and Danielle were no doubt strong, but… even the strongest of bonds could be _cut apart!_

Zsasz sighed.

The hostages noticed how giddy he seemed, rather like a schoolboy as he paced, hands twitching, the knife occasionally glinting between his fingers but just as often the way he picked at his scars, pulling the scabs, running his hand over his bald head. He laughed softly to himself, then paused to rub his face. Was he psyching himself up for the kill… or for something else? The hostages hated to wonder. The could hear his mumbles, though it was clear he was only talking to himself:

"I wonder what she will do now. How she will make the choice."

_He could see her now. She was fretting over the phone, running her hands through her long hair, agonizing over which worthless person she would save. Why did she bother? She would be alone after this. There was no way the survivor would want to even associate with her after their ordeal–_

"Are you the guy who's been trying to shut down our classes?"

The meek voice belonged to Danielle's precious student. Mid-20s, brown hair ridiculously parted, skinny and weak. Yes, _Theodore._ The one who he saw Danielle _hugging _in the courtyard in the hospital, telltale blush on the zombie's face! He still couldn't believe it. Brave, _pathetic_ Theodore thought he could gain Danielle's affections and steal her away from him, did he?!

"Shut UP!" he gritted at the annoying hostage.

"Why? Why would you want to do that? What have we done to you?"

Zsasz approached the piggy's cage, muscles twitching, his arm coiled and ready to spring—

"I don't believe it was Mr. Zsasz." It was Mrs. Phillips who spoke, and while her words were composed, her voice shook horribly. "It was Scarecrow."

Zsasz sneered. "And what would give you _that _idea, old woman?"

"He killed my friend many years ago. She was the original self-defense teacher. He sent her notes too before she died."

Zsasz turned, and the old woman trembled with fear at the look in his eyes. "If the Scarecrow was after Danielle all this time…" he said with deceptive calm, as he strode toward her menacingly, "Then. Why. Didn't. You. _Warn Her?!_"

"I didn't know about the notes until recently! And then the classes were shut down, so I thought… Good lord! He's with her right now, isn't he?"

"Since you're in here with me instead of out there rescuing her, I don't hardly think that's any of your business—" He swiped at the bars with his knife. _"Old woman!"  
_

"Hey! Don't attack her that way!"

Zsasz laughed chillingly. "You have far more important things to worry about, little piggy. You are soon to receive my gift, no matter if Danielle chooses _you_ to save-"

"Enough! There is no need for games. Let the children go. You can keep me. But let them go."

"Oh, but we can't decide!" Zsasz neared her cage again, and in spite of her bravery, the old woman shrank back. "It is Danielle's decision! She must decide which one of you she will save…and which two of you _I_ will save!"

"Hey, what's up with all your scars, anyway?"

Zsasz turned, furious at another interruption, and was brought up short. Danielle's best friend was sitting up in her cell with an impassive look. She leaned against the bars, almost casually, but her eyes were focused on him with unnerving scrutiny. Oh, he remembered her. The little coworker from Danielle's old job – the one who noticed that things weren't quite right with Danielle, back when he was first… pursuing her. That's right. He didn't like this one. She was too smart for her own good.

Nevertheless, he approached her cage with a slight swagger. He'd break her soon enough.

"Cynthia Ornette Gibson… Danielle's precious best friend, but for how much longer?" he smiled creepily. "These are my… tally marks," he indicated the healed ones along his arm. "Each one represents a person who has been freed from their mortal coil, who has been… liberated… by yours truly. And soon two of you will be added to my count. Would you like to see—"

"So when you kill someone, you stab yourself so you can remember them?" Cindy raised an eyebrow. "You should try Christmas cards, at least then you're sure to get something back!"

"Very amusing, little zombie. As I was saying, this is where your mark is. This is where your miserable existence will…end." He motioned to a spot below his elbow; there was no way he was putting her spot near Danielle's, in spite of what he said before. Even as she glanced down to where he was pointing, Cindy looked unimpressed. "Let me guess… You think Danielle is going to save you instead of these other two pigs. You think you know her so well… Do you want to see where their marks will end up?" He pointed to his left shoulder; a spot for Mrs. Phillips, and down to his right heel; an appropriate spot for the unsuccessful interloper. "You know you'll blame yourself if you survive instead of them. Or maybe you'd blame your precious best friend."

"No. I would blame you."

"Really?"

"You're the one who did this, not Dani. You're the one who kidnapped us. You're the one who gave my best friend nightmares for the past three years! I don't ever forget who is _really_ responsible for all the evil in the world: the people who commit the evil!" Cindy bared her teeth. "And you will still have to answer for your crimes someday."

"I have; it's called Arkham!"

"Not Arkham. You'll have to answer to Him." Cindy pointed up at the ceiling.

Zsasz rolled his eyes. "I already have a higher power in my life, one that has given me this sacred mission. How successful has yours been at protecting you?" He shook his head, almost pityingly. "You know what, little zombie? I hope Danielle _does_ decide to rescue you. She'll get you back alive, of course…" He casually picked a dirty nail with his knife tip. "But not without marks. Maybe I'll carve a crucifix into your cheek. A little reminder of your faith. You can question Him how much He cares for you as you watch me slit the throat of this old woman…" He smiled as Cindy blinked several times; not as stoic as she appeared. "You can sing His hosannas as you watch me stab, over and over again, this mewling manchild as he squeals for his release… and I'll take my time granting it to him. Would you like to see that… Cindy? Would your God protect you from me? Would your God grant you forgiveness of your best friend for putting you in this position?"

"You think this is the only time in my life I've seen bad shit happen?" Cindy scoffed. "Please, I grew up in East End. You know what they do to girls in East End? And that's not even counting the abusive losers my sister dated – I swear, that girl has the worst taste in men!" She shook her head contemptuously at Zsasz. "Monsters like you, they're our bogeymen! But we've got a lot worse demons in reality."

"I'm sure once Danielle is forced to make her choice, you'll see things… differently."

"Really? Know what I've noticed? For all your talk about Dani… guess what? You still don't have her! You haven't been able to have her after almost four years, and that burns you up, doesn't it? What are you gonna do, kill two of us, keep the final survivor, and keep making Dani play your sick games? Or exchange the final survivor for her? If you do that, and _I'm_ the final survivor, I guarantee you I will hunt you down and stick those knives straight up your—"

"You wouldn't by chance be related to Aaron Cash," Zsasz winced, "would you?"

The piggy stared blankly at him. "…Who?"

* * *

_Total asshole._ The self-defense teacher silently fumed to herself as she taped the bandage in place around her foot. Her nose was already re-taped.

Putting her boots on, she spun to her feet. Winced a little. It would have to do. She pocketed two aspirin.

Time was running out. It wouldn't be long before he called back. How would she stall him?

Her gear was on, salvaged from the glass. As she bent down to grab the last piece, her eyes caught sight of the photo album of her family. On the cover was a portrait of all of them together, staring solemnly into the shot.

The book was brown leather, old-smelling… and it was the most precious thing she owned, aside from her grandmother's ashes.

One by one, she traced the faces of her parents, her siblings, the nieces and nephew and cousins. _12 hours' time difference… It would be late morning where they are._ She wanted so badly to call them, make sure they were OK.

But now wasn't the time.

"I saw you die once tonight, Cindy. No way am I letting it happen again!"

Cindy's little "slip" - saying "mill" instead of "mull" - wasn't a slip at all; her best friend had left her a vital clue! There was only one mill Danielle could thing of in Gotham City - _the old Sionis steel mill_. It made sense. She grimly remembered the incident when Zsasz had killed the mugger - it was back in the Industrial District. Batman had thought at the time that Zsasz was based somewhere there.

They were in the steel mill. She couldn't afford to think otherwise.

On her way out of the living room, she paused. _I could call the police right now._ The thought was very appealing._ Let them handle this. This isn't my responsibility, it's theirs._

She looked back at the picture of her family, sitting on the coffee table now.

_Marks or no marks, that bastard has killed over 500 people. If the police were going to stop him, they would have already. The police cannot stop him. But I can. I have to! If I don't… _Again, she saw Cindy and Mrs. Phillips cold on the park bench, and Theodore with a knife sticking through his throat.

She put the helmet over her head firmly. "I am not afraid anymore."

One last check under the bed, an old friend in her hands… _Zsasz is going down!_

She locked the front door with resolution, descended in the elevator and made her way out onto the cold streets. Approaching the curb, she stuck out her hand.

"TAXI!"

_**-/-/-/-/-**_


	16. Chapter 15: Rush

_A/N:_

_Batfangirl: I totally agree, dialogue can be so telling about characters, what they do and don't say, how they react to each other... I'm a huge dialogue fan! :D I totally imagine Zsasz trying to pull a "Hannibal Lecter" on Danielle and freak her out. XD_

_4SeasonsChick: I knew you'd like Cindy! :D She's one strong girl. She's based on Maxine Gibson from "Batman Beyond". :)_

_Random thought of the day: does anyone else think Deadshot (the Arkham City version) looks slightly like Adam Baldwin (aka Jayne from Firefly)? :D_

_Enjoy! :)_

_-0-_

**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Fifteen: RUSH-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

The old Sionis steel mill loomed before the yellow taxi. In the darkness, it seemed like more than a building. Once a majestic palace of dreams and business, it sat abandoned at the edge of the city, peering out enviously across the bay, toward the more glamourous and recent endeavors of Gotham's decadent inhabitants. The steel mill was not alone; rather it was the crowned jewel of this sad neighborhood, and all around lay the ghosts of industry past, all broken windows and boarded up doors. But the mill, at the top of the hill, was the most visible structure by far. Cold, dark, no longer bedazzled by thousands of tiny lights - a memento from the Arkham City days - it no longer belonged to Sionis nor Joker. It belonged to history best forgotten. A sick monument of sorts.

Danielle shivered a little as she stepped out and paid the driver. Even though the smokestacks were no longer hot, the air stank of rust; no doubt the mill was corroding from the salty breeze that drifted in from the bay. She could hear the waves as she raced up to the entrance. _Was Zsasz really here? Had he taken her friends to this godforsaken place?_

Just before the main door she stopped in her tracks. Something glinted up from the pavement. She knelt down.

It was a small silver charm bracelet, and Danielle's eyes stung. She and Mrs. Phillips had given it to Cindy last year for her birthday. _They were in here!_

Her fingers fumbled with the phone. The police line rang and rang, and Danielle put it carefully just outside the main entrance to the steel mill. The police could track her signal, she hoped. If she couldn't save her friends… _No. No, that wasn't even an option right now._ She steeled herself before opening the door.

The loading bay was empty. No sign of them. But oh, if just being in here didn't make her hair stand on end! Among other things, the lights were still on. Why were the lights always on in here?! Too well she remembered the creepy night she had spent in the manager's office above her. Fleetingly she wondered if the pictures of the Joker were still decorating the walls.

_Where were they?!_

She took the first door on the right, the one that rather ominously said "Death Ride". Just an empty room with an elevator. Sprinting now, she went into the next room. Nothing but a conveyor belt and old equipment, no sign of her friends. Dust everywhere, this place hadn't been touched in months! She went through, room after room, her panic growing. They had to be here! They just had to be!

But there was no one there. And she couldn't hear any voices. _Maybe that's good. If they aren't screaming, then maybe I'm not too late. Maybe they're still OK..._

_Or they could already be dead,_ she thought fearfully. What if she _was_ too late? What if, as she searched, Zsasz had called her back and begun murdering her friends?

She stumbled back to the loading bay on the verge of panic. They just had to be here! Cindy's clue, the bracelet outside, there wasn't anywhere else they could be! There were two more doors to try. The one on the far side of the room only lead to the office upstairs! She gritted her teeth. One door left...

This one led to an old freight elevator. The accordion doors directly in front of the lifts were long gone, torn off their hinges. The two elevators were on the _bottom_ floor. Her stomach dipped as she registered just how high up this shaft was. If she fell...

She would probably have to slide down using the metal cables. Then she could land on the roof of one of the elevators and crawl through the slim opening at the top. She was reaching out for one of those cables when the doubts hit her. Even if she got all the way down there safely, there was no telling how she'd get back up to the top. And if she was wrong, she'd be helpless down there. _Helpless to save her friends._ Zsasz could be somewhere entirely different with them, and he would successfully torture them to death, if she made this one mistake... Should she really do this?

She searched her instincts. They said exactly what she expected.

With renewed determination she began to descend the shaft.

* * *

Cindy had long stopped trying to reason with Zsasz. There was nothing, absolutely nothing she could say, that could get through to this monster.

_How did Danielle survive so long with him?!_ she wondered. _All alone, month after month, how did she do it?_

Were they really going to die here? In a dirty, stinking boiler room, inside a cage?

The Butcher walked close to Mrs. Phillips' cell. The old woman drew back as he swiped the bars with his blade, metal grating the air.

"Can you feel the time approaching, little pigs?" Zsasz began to laugh. He was quickly becoming more unhinged, agitated, as he paced back and forth among them. His eyes were wild with malice, and he leaned closer to drink the fear from their eyes.

"You…" he whispered to Theodore, "you I will gut like a fish!" The more he talked, the more psyched up he was getting. Any second now he would make that phone call—

Cindy thought fast, trying to delay him. "Don't you think you'll get caught? What are you gonna do if the police catch you?"

"The police… ohohohoho… Danielle never told you, did she? I have been arrested more times than I can count! It's never stopped me from completing my great work." He shook his head with amusement. "Eventually I get out again, and I save more people."

"You keep track of every person you ever killed, but you can't keep track of your arrest record?" Cindy couldn't help but snark.

"Spoken like a true best friend of Danielle's! You see, the arrests are unimportant. I do not keep track of unimportant things." He laughed as he waved the blade. The hilt was rust-red. He looked down at Cindy menacingly, and she felt a coldness inside.

"Let us call Danielle now," Zsasz held up Cindy's cell phone. "Let us see who she will choose to save." He dialed, the keys pinging as he punched the numbers he had now memorized, and the line rang. The hostages all held their breaths, waiting for Danielle to pick up, waiting for the choice that might damn two of them...

And the phone...

Kept...

Ringing...

And...

_Ringing!_

The room was so quiet that they could hear each ring, each unanswered summons. Why wasn't she answering? Was she leaving them to die? Zsasz's face grew colder at each passing moment, until finally...

_"Hi, you've reached Danielle Lee, please leave a message…"_

Beep! Zsasz disconnected, fury darkening his features. For a moment, he didn't do anything but clench the phone, so hard that it looked as though he would snap it in halves. Would he go crazy? Begin slashing them without rhyme or reason? The cages would not protect them; Theodore, Mrs. Phillips, and Cindy were painfully aware of this.

Moments passed, and the tension in the room was palpable, so thick it could be cut with a knife. Only then did Zsasz finally tilt his head back… and he began to _giggle_.

His chilling mirth rang out for all of them to hear, and at that moment, each of Danielle's friends knew they were going to die.

"Oh, oh, this is too perfect!" he snickered. "Danielle… Your precious Dani dearest is too afraid to make the choice! She cannot stand to sentence any one of you to die, even if it means _saving_ one of you! Or," he smiled, "she really did consider all of you the burden, and she wanted me to rid you of your miserable lives."

"That's not true!" Cindy burst out.

"Well, no matter…" Zsasz said, unfazed. "I'll take good care of her for all of you, I promise you that. Yes… I'll call her back in a moment. I'll let her listen to your screams. But first I want a taste. I want to know who will scream the loudest for Dani dearest." He waved the knife and turned in a slow circle, deciding who would get it first.

"I guess I'll have to start with you."

* * *

THUMP! Danielle landed on the metal cage below. She had lost her grip early - hard to hold on with all the armor weighing her down. Luckily the same armor protected her. She landed on her side and lay there for a moment panting.

Then the self-defense teacher was on her feet again, determination on her face. _Don't give up now!_

* * *

Cindy's eyes widened in horror as Zsasz raised the knife. His other hand held the keys. In a second he would open the cage and stab her, and she would die! She clutched her crucifix tightly.

"Yes… Feel the end coming, little pig! Feel your salvation!"

Cindy's heart was thundering in her ears.

He paused. "Actually, I think I want Danielle to hear this. She can pick it up if she likes. Just so long as she hears her best friend die." He dialed again. No answer. "C'mon, Danielle – _WHERE ARE YOU?!" _

Quickly he regained his composure. "She's probably sitting next to her phone, fearing to hear which one of you I kill first." As Cindy watched, his frightening mask slipped into place: there was nothing in his eyes but total emptiness, the single-minded murderous urge. "She'll regret not playing along. Soon she'll be all alone, and then she'll be mine."

He approached the cage with a slow gait, knowing it would intimidate her more than if he rushed. Her eyes widened suddenly.

"Are you so afraid of your own death?" Zsasz tilted his head. _No wait. The piggy is looking behind me. I didn't hear— It's Batman!_ Instinctively Zsasz spun around—

WHAM!

…Not into a black gauntleted hand, but rather a _baseball bat!_

"Danielle!"

The next blow came swiftly.

WHAM! Zsasz flew across the room, landing in a heap, blood trickling from a head wound. He saw Danielle approaching him like a fireball out of hell. She wasn't wearing her usual attire, he noticed. In place of his Alive Girl stood a warrior wearing a chest protector, arm guards, even a Gotham Knights catcher's helmet, wire across obscuring her face. But he could read the fury coming off her in waves. With her baseball armor, fierce posture and the way she held the bat, he swore she looked like a damn _samurai_.

She bore down, slamming the bat at him. He rolled out of the way and rose swiftly, knife in hand. _Swit!_ She raised an arm in defense, and his blade glanced off the guard. _Swit! _His second blade cut through the fabric near her right shoulder, an unprotected area. She caught his hand, pressing down into the soft flesh near his thumb. The knife clattered to the ground. Before she could take advantage of more openings, he withdrew, retreating a fair distance to appraise her better.

"So you found us, Danielle. I'm impressed. And in style, too! How did you do it?"

Danielle stole a look toward her friends. They were safe! They looked worse for wear, but no major cuts or injuries that it seemed… She noticed suddenly that the three of them were looking as if they had seen a ghost — but their terrified eyes weren't focused on Zsasz_. They were focused on her_. It was then she understood that in spite of everything her friends had experienced, they had never seen violence like this before. Zsasz was right. They didn't know her real self. They couldn't.

When she had entered the room and witnessed Zsasz menacing Cindy ...she saw _red_. Sneaking up on him had been the least she could do when every muscle in her body screamed to rip him to shreds.

Now, now that she knew they were all alive, she tried to reign in the rage and concentrate. His guard was up. Spotting or making openings was going to be difficult, and at any time he could go for one of her friends...

Zsasz wiped the blood from his forehead, smearing it across his skin. "Won't you dance with me?"

"No time for da—"

_WHOOOOSH!_

A blur of silver - Zsasz's knife flying toward Mrs. Phillips - a split-second of terror -

_CRACK! _The bat slamming the knife out of the air sounded like a whip, and Mrs. Phillips flinched before, finally, succumbing to terror. She slumped forward, unconscious. Cindy and Theodore watched with astonishment at the knife fell from the blow, spiking hard onto the concrete floor.

Just as suddenly, Zsasz had Danielle pinned against the back wall, a knife to her throat. Danielle had raised her bat, pushing back against his arms.

Vaguely she could hear her friends, yelling her name in alarm.

Zsasz leaned close to her, peering through the wires.

"Why don't you take off that mask and give me a kiss." His expression contorted suddenly. "_I was this close, this close to liberating you from them, and you ruined it!_ But it's not too late… We could be together, Dani-"

She forced him backward.

"Together! You don't even like me, Zsasz!" She ignored the shocked look on his face. She swung at him again, and he dodged, but his astonishment remained. Suddenly the words came rushing out._  
_

"The only reason, and I mean _only_ reason why you like me is because you were lonely at exactly the wrong time! I wouldn't die on your command, and you respected that, maybe even enjoyed the challenge… But then it was summer, the worst time of year for you, and I was _simply there!_ Just there to distract you from everything you have no control over! I'm _not_ special, you don't like me for my stunning intellect or because of some non-existent superpowers, or even because my personality appeals to you. You like me because of _circumstances_, and nothing more! Because I amuse you, and because you think you have power over me. _You crossed a line when you went after my friends!_ And now, you knife-wielding asshole, I'm taking you back to Arkham!"

Zsasz laughed, as if her words were nothing more than whispers in the wind. She tried to edge her way over, get between Zsasz and the cages. No matter what happened, he must not get through her! She readied her bat.

"You know that armor will slow you down…" She noticed the second glint in his hands. He'd already rearmed.

"Do you have an endless supply of knives or something?!" she finally asked the question that had always irked her.

"Yes."

"Psycho."

"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful, Danielle."

_WHOOOSH!_ Another knife!

_CRACK!_ That one fell just an inch from Theodore's cage. The young man covered his face, and Danielle hardened her stance.

"You want them, you'll have to come through me!"

Zsasz's eyes were burning with anger. "Even now you fight for them, even when they burden you! You know they'll die sooner or later, so why do you fight it?!"

Danielle remained unmoving.

"This isn't over!" Abruptly the malevolent murderer fled, running past Danielle and the cages to a nearby conveyor belt full of purple ceramic penguins. He scrambled through the narrow opening, and they could hear the clang of boots hitting metal as he ran.

"There are stairs in the back!" Cindy called out. "That's how he brought us down here!"

Danielle spun around. "You guys! Thank God- Where are the keys?"

Theodore pointed. Zsasz had dropped them near his cell during the struggle. Danielle picked them up and swiftly released her friends. "Are you guys OK? Did he hurt you?"

"We're fine, Miss Danielle," Theodore adjusted his broken glasses nervously.

"Dani…"

"Cindy!" Danielle hugged her best friend fiercely.

"Dani, what happened to your arm?"

"Oh, it's nothing, probably where Zsasz—" She trailed off.

Zsasz had cut her sleeve open, but he hadn't broken the skin. Cindy was looking wide-eyed at the now-bruising needlemarks from the Scarecrow. Her stomach turned. Hard to believe that a short hour ago, she was still stuck in his nightmare world.

Their eyes met. "Girl, you've been through a lot this evening, haven't you?" Cindy uttered, refusing to break eye contact. She didn't look scared, but… but there was something in her gaze. Something had changed. It could have been her ordeal with Zsasz (it probably was), or it could have been seeing her _real_ best friend, how violent she really was… Whatever it was, it made Danielle sick at heart to know that nothing would be the same for any of them, ever again.

She looked down. "Nothing as horrible as what you've been through tonight, Cind." She turned away abruptly and opened the last cage.

"Mrs. Phillips…" she held the old woman in her arms. There was still a pulse - hopefully she had just been frightened into passing out. She checked the back of her head tenderly. There was a slight bruise. "Oh no…" She cradled her close. "I need to get to my phone… I left it upstairs dialing the police."

"So that's why you didn't answer it."

"I couldn't risk that he would hear it ringing if he called while I was looking for you." Her head was swimming. She could barely hear her friends. "I needed the element of surprise."

"You got here just in time," Cindy's voice trembled with relief. "He was going to cut us up."

"I'm so sorry," Danielle sobbed, holding Mrs. Phillips even closer. The old woman groaned in her sleep and shifted slightly. "I got you guys into this mess—"

"Don't blame yourself, Miss Danielle!" Theodore protested vehemently, making Danielle look up in shock. "Remember what you always tell us in class? That it's not our faults when someone decides to make victims of us? It wasn't your fault whatever he decided."

"He shouldn't have put _any_ of us in that situation, Dani! He's a monster," Cindy's face twisted. "I can't believe you've had to live with him targeting you for so long!"

"You should have seen Cindy!" Theodore blushed. "She didn't let him intimidate her at all. She was amazing!"

Danielle grinned through her tears. "Why am I not surprised? You've always been a badass, Cind."

"Badass best friends!" Cindy laughed, high-fiving her. "And for the record, I was terrified!"

"The phone down here doesn't work." The girls turned at Theodore's gesture; indeed, there was a phone on the wall, but the lines were ripped out. Cindy's cell phone was nowhere in sight; Zsasz must have taken it with him. "He's crazy, Miss Danielle."

"Yes…" she noticed the dried blood on the ends of the ripped cords. "Yes, he is."

"I got her," Cindy took Mrs. Phillips in her arms gently. "Go, Dani."

"Here." She handed Cindy her mace. Somehow the sight of it in her best friend's hand filled her with a sense of rightness. "Just in case he comes back. I'll make sure the police are on their way. Wait, one more thing…" She placed the charm bracelet, now warm from her pocket, into Cindy's hand. "If it hadn't been for your clues, I'd have never found you guys. You are beyond amazing, girl."

Cindy smiled up at her.

"Be safe," Theodore whispered.

She took one last look at her friends, burning their images into her memory, and then she was scrambling through the conveyor line and up the hidden stairs.

* * *

The ascent took forever. She listened for Zsasz's footsteps. Nothing. He could be long gone by now… Or lying in wait.

The hidden stairs let out into a dark little room, maybe a janitor's closet. When she opened the door, she saw she was back in the Loading Bay. Quickly she raced for the doors, throwing them open, and spotted her cell phone lying on the ground ahead. She ran to pick it up—

WHAM! The world spun. She found herself on her hands and knees, looking up into Zsasz's face.

"Sorry, Danielle, can't have you calling the police just yet." _SMASH! _Her phone exploded into sparks as he stomped it into oblivion. There was a clatter, and Cindy's equally smashed phone landed next to hers. "Now, let's just-"

He straightened up suddenly, his eyes widening at something Danielle couldn't see. "Batman!" He tore off at full speed, feet pounding the gravel. A moment later she felt the cloth of Batman's cape as he landed next to her.

"Danielle, are you alright?" she heard his baritone, and nothing sounded sweeter.

"I'm OK. He got my friends - they're downstairs inside the steel mill, in the boiler room. He was gonna kill them. I stopped him." She got to her feet and smiled slightly, finally letting it sink in. _"I stopped him."_

"I'll call for an ambulance," Batman dialed and spoke quickly on his cowl. As he did, Danielle picked up her fallen baseball bat and strode away purposefully.

"Where are you going?" Batman was by her side in an instant, hand clamped on her shoulder. Danielle's gaze shot up to him. "The police will be here soon. Go back to your friends."

"No."

"WHAT?"

"I'm going after him. I've got to take care of him once and for all."

She started to walk off, and once again Batman stopped her. "It wasn't a question, Danielle. You're staying here."

"HE WENT AFTER MY FRIENDS!" Danielle exploded. Batman looked taken aback, though he quickly regained his stoic appearance. Somewhere deep inside, Danielle knew that she shouldn't be yelling at Batman, that she was completely in the wrong for doing so, but dammit, she was so _frustrated!_

"If I let him go now, he'll go after them again! You _know_ how he is, Batman, they won't even be safe in the damn hospital! _He won't stop until they're dead!_ That _sicko_ won't stop until he's killed the whole world, starting with the people I love! The police can't take him down, he eats them for breakfast. Don't you get it? He says he wants me to play his game. So I will! I'll trick him, beat the hell out of him, and then I'll drag him back to Arkham myself this time." She tried to pass Batman and this time he grabbed both her shoulders.

"_Don't you understand that this is not your job!"_ Even knowing he was a force of good, Batman's harshness shook her from head to toe. "You are _not _vigilante. Leave it to the people who are supposed to handle it!"

"Batman-" for a moment her voice faltered as she looked up at her idol. He looked intimidating with his scowl, but everything else about him… His bravery, his integrity, his dedication… _How can anyone ever repay him for all he does?_ "You do more for this city than anyone, Batman." _You've always inspired me._ "You carry the whole weight of Arkham, and more, on your shoulders. You know this, right? Thank you for everything you do." She gently removed his hands from her shoulders. "You do so much on your own... Can't you let someone else handle just one of them?"

"No."

"OK then." She took a deep breath. "He went this way!"

She sprinted off suddenly and Batman shook his head. "She's going to get herself killed if I don't go with her. She might anyway." With great reluctance, he ran after her.

Danielle had cleared the gates of the steel mill when she felt Batman beside her. "I disagree with what you're doing. Just so you know."

She smiled. "Thank you, Batman."

"Don't thank me yet. How do you know he went this way?"

"A hunch."

"What?!"

They stopped suddenly in the street. Batman held out his hand. "Give me your bat."

She handed it over. Batman looked at it intensely, and she realized he was scanning it.

He looked down at the ground. "You can verify that this is Zsasz's blood on your bat?"

Danielle nodded.

"He went this way."

They continued forward, Danielle following Batman's lead. By now the regrets were sinking in. Not for pursuing Zsasz, she wouldn't regret that — but for yelling at Batman, her ally. For not being more respectful of him. For getting her friends into this mess. For this whole evening. She heard the wail of an ambulance somewhere behind her and breathed a little easier. Her friends were safe now—

Batman was gone.

She looked around in growing shock and indignation. He had ditched her! Well, what else could she have expected—?

"Oh crap!" The yelling startled her. She glanced left and saw two thugs pointing in her direction, beer spilled. "Look out! It's the Bat—"

_Hah! Batman didn't leave after all. _She turned to grin at him, but he still wasn't there.

"—ter!"

Her head whipped around._ What did they just say?!_

A third thug came on the scene. All three of them were pointing at _her_. "Yeah, it's the Batter!"

"Mavis didn't say anything about her wearing a costume!" the first thug yelped.

"Maybe she's upgrading!"

_Wait… __What?!_ "What did you call me?!" she demanded.

"Skinny chick with a baseball bat, dark hair – it's you!"

"Hey batter batter batter!"

"You beat up our buddy Mavis three years ago! Took his brass knuckles off him!"

"You beat up some of our other friends too!"

"I did…?" She remembered a few months ago when some Penguin goons had tried to mug her. Come to think of it, these guys were wearing Penguin decals too... "Oh."

"What's wrong? You beat up so many people you can't even remember them all?"

"You're worse than Batman!"

"You guys…" _You're delaying me from getting Zsasz!_ "You're morons, and I don't have time for this."

"Oh hell no! She's just gonna walk away! Stuck up bitch!"

_"Get her!"_

Danielle turned, fluidly moving past the first punch. _OOMPF!_ Her bat jabbed into his solar plexus and he dropped to his knees, winded. She swung, and he went down all the way. His two buddies were not far behind, and Danielle made short work of them. One grabbed her arm. She reversed his hold and kicked the back of his knee, forcing him to the ground clutching his leg. The third one charged with a furious yell. She clocked him in the head, knowing him out cold.

The goons who were conscious remained on the ground as she walked past. They did not try to attack her again.

She turned and nearly bumped into Batman. "Well done," was all he said, before he strode off with a swirl of his cape, not even bothering to address the broken men on the ground.

"Where to now?" she asked anxiously.

"The trail's almost cold. If we lose him now there's no telling when he'll resurface." She read the consternation in his voice. "If Zsasz approaches you again for _any_ reason, you need to contact me. Don't go it alone, Danielle, no matter how much you want to!" _With their history, it's an almost-certainty__ he'll pursue her. I can use his fixation on her to lure him out, catch him._

"But how will I contact you?"

"You'll know. I'll make sure your new phone is fitted with a way." He held his hand out suddenly. "Wait here!"

He ran ahead. She heard a yell. Curiosity got the better of her. "Just a quick look, just to make sure he doesn't need help…" The excuse sounded stupid even to her own ears.

When she crept into the clearing, she was in for a shock.

The cry had come from Zsasz. He was surrounded, with at least ten attackers closing in on him. Batman was rushing in — from the looks of it, to save Zsasz! But that wasn't the craziest part.

Zsasz's ten attackers were wearing all black and wielding huge swords...

_They were ninjas!_

_**-/-/-/-/-**_


	17. Chapter 16: Revelations

**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Sixteen: REVELATIONS-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

"Alert the master! It's him!"

"Oh boy…" Batman muttered to himself. In a moment he flash-stepped to the zealot who had spoken, knocking her out with a solid punch to the jaw.

This evening was turning out to be crazier than he had foreseen. Crane and Zsasz's shenanigans he could deal with; that was his "Tuesday" – or literally Friday – so to speak. But it now seemed that _he _had decided to play his hand early.

The next ninja gave a shrill cry as she swung at him. He sidestepped her attack and counterattacked from the outside, where her defenses were weak. Even as she went down, two more kunoichi came at him, one on each side. He countered them both and knocked their heads together, but clearly not hard enough…

All the while Zsasz struggled against his captors. Two men – martial arts experts, no doubt – held him, hands behind his back, against a white van. Batman saw a flash of silver, and Zsasz slashed one of his captor's arms. The other one punched Zsasz hard in the gut and the serial killer doubled over.

There were too many of them. Six more swordswomen stood in between him and Zsasz.

_WCHA!_ The sound of a whip made everyone turn. A black shape hurtled out of the night, landing on one of the ninjas.

"Oh Batman, you shouldn't have started the party without me!"

There in all her sassy glory stood Catwoman. When she saw Batman, a huge grin blossomed on her face.

She jumped at another ninja. The kunoichi swung, and the feline-lover ducked. Then she kicked the sword out of the woman's hands and popped out her claws. "This is gonna be fun!"

As the two superheroes fought the ninjas, Danielle saw that Zsasz was slipping away from his captors. One noticed and grabbed him, slamming him face-first into the white van. In an instant, Danielle was behind them, whacking the ninja hard in the back of the head. He dropped like a stone. Zsasz looked over his shoulder and smiled crookedly.

"You chose a wonderful time to be heroic, my sweet Danielle," he purred.

She rolled her eyes. "You're not going anywhere, Zsasz."

He made a sudden dash for it, and she jumped on him, grabbing him around the shoulders. He lost his balance and they crashed into the back of the van. The door opened, and someone fell out.

Together Catwoman and Batman made short work of the ninjas. Catwoman was running her fingertips over Batman's chest seductively (and he was whispering "not here") when they heard a yelp.

Zsasz and Danielle were staring in astonishment at a lump on the ground. As Batman and Catwoman came closer, they saw who it was, and that she was in bad shape.

Translucent green skin, with chlorophyll running through her veins. Long red ratty hair that hadn't been brushed in ages. Bruises under her eyes – for she hadn't seen the sun in months. The nymph-like woman looked up at them weakly.

"Are you… _Poison Ivy?"_ Danielle breathed. She was so entranced that she didn't notice Zsasz shaking with anger.

Ivy's cracked lips parted, and she offered Danielle the softest of smiles. Hard to tell if it was genuine, or if she was just so grateful to be free.

Then the woman looked over and saw Zsasz. Her whole demeanor transformed. "You!" she snarled.

Before anyone could react, Zsasz had hauled Poison Ivy to her feet, his hands around her throat. Just as abruptly, vines sprouted from the ground, wrapping around Zsasz's legs and chest and holding him up in the air. Both supervillains were at least a foot off the ground, locked in the grip of mutual fury.

Batman, Catwoman, and Danielle stared in stunned silence.

Finally, Zsasz hissed, with deeper disgust than they had seen, "How did _you_ escape?!"

* * *

"Zsasz, let her go!" Danielle was the first to break the trance. She approached him, laying a hand on his muscular arm. Zsasz wouldn't break eye contact with Poison Ivy, who was likewise glaring at him. "Zsasz!"

"C'mon, Red…" Catwoman tried to soothe Ivy into releasing her vines. As the women tried to diffuse the situation, Batman strode over and raised two batarangs menacingly.

"Both of you let go of each other. _Now._"

Zsasz and Poison Ivy immediately did so. Both slumped to the ground. Batman wasted no time in handcuffing both of them.

"Now, tell me what you're doing mixed up with the League of Shadows!"

The plant lady sighed as she stared up at the stars; summoning her plants had cost precious energy. "Shouldn't you know already, Oh Great and Mighty Detective?"

"If it's so obvious, then why don't you explain it?" Catwoman asked.

Poison Ivy smiled bitterly. "Hello, Selina. Aren't you supposed to be home playing devoted wifey to Bruce Wayne? Since when do you work with Batman?"

"I've always had a soft spot for the Caped Crusader, you know that, Pammy," she walked slowly around Batman, as if to emphasize the point. "And you do realize I married Bruce Wayne for his money, not that he needs to know that."

Batman looked vaguely amused. "Poor man! You _would _do something like that!"

"Bruce Wayne's wife? Wait a minute…" Danielle came right up to Catwoman and looked intensely into her face. "Oh my God! It _is_ you! We met at the zoo one day!"

"This one's a little slow," Ivy snorted. Catwoman waved her off, her face flushed with pride.

"I never got to thank you for saving my life," Danielle grinned. "Wait, does Bruce Wayne know you're out here saving the world?"

Catwoman smirked, her green eyes sparkling. The two women stared mischievously at each other.

"I won't tell if you don't!" Danielle said quickly.

Somewhere to the left of the two women, Batman rolled his eyes.

"Something big's going on here, Red, and I don't know if I like it." Catwoman returned to the matter at hand, appraising Poison Ivy's distress. "I'm guessing you don't either, or else you wouldn't have been locked in a van by those maniacs. You know something."

Ivy looked conflicted, and she gazed pleadingly at Catwoman.

"Don't say anything!" Zsasz hissed.

Ivy snapped her head around to glare at him. "And what makes you think I'm going to listen-"

"Poison Ivy, I promise you if you say anything, I will hunt you down, no matter how long it takes, and-"

"Both of you shut up," Batman said. "Now, I'll ask again - what. were. you. doing. with. them?"

"If you don't talk now, we could just separate you guys and see which one of you tells us everything," Catwoman said casually.

Zsasz glared at her with utmost loathing. "We have unfinished business to settle as well, Catwoman!"

"Of course we do. Now talk, or I'll slash up your marks again!"

"In case you haven't noticed, there aren't that many to slash up now!"

"There's always your forehead…"

"It was Rā's al Ghūl!" Ivy burst out. Everyone turned to look at her, even Zsasz who gritted his teeth.

"What did he want with you?"

"They violated me!" Ivy began to sob. "They stole all the toxins and serums from my body!"

"Why?!" Catwoman was horrified. "Why would they do that?"

"They were trying to harvest my powers over life itself! How dare they! At first, I was charmed," she lamented. "I thought they were going to create a utopia for the plants. I didn't resist – it seemed like the perfect team up. Rā's al Ghūl believes that humanity must be greatly culled, in order to let nature thrive in this industrialized world. I shared his vision! But I learned something the hard way…"

"What was it?"

"Rā's al Ghūl is an unrepentant misogynist. He doesn't believe that women can wield power the same as men, not even his own daughter. He wouldn't let me do it myself. It would have been so much easier if he had merely augmented my powers – I would have remade the world! But instead," she said with disgust, "that pig tried to steal them from me!"

"So that's why you've been missing for the last few months," Batman noted. "We'd thought you had gone on a long retreat, or to some tropical country to be away from humans. I never imagined where you really were."

"Save your sorry speeches, Batman, it doesn't matter. I'm no threat to you, I don't intend to stay in Gotham. I intend to go back and rid the world of that pig!"

"You know where he is?"

"Yes!"

"Tell me."

"Of course not, are you crazy! Rā's is mine!"

"You _will_ tell me!"

"Threatening to torture me, Batman? Didn't you know Rā's is a master torturer? You can't do anything to me that he hasn't already done!"

"…And what did he want with you?" Catwoman interrupted, staring down at the sulking Zsasz.

"Oh, him? He was Rā's al Ghūl's favorite, his own personal lapdog!"

"Shut up, Poison Ivy!"

"What was the price, Zsasz?"

"Price?" Zsasz scoffed. "You say it as though I could be bought."

"If you weren't bought, then you were held against your will. I know you, Zsasz, you've never been one to work with others when you can help it. You don't play well. Did he bring you back to life when you fell from the Sprang Bridge?"

"What are you talking about?" Danielle cut in. "Zsasz didn't die! He couldn't have-" She trailed off. Zsasz was staring at the ground, uncharacteristically silent. She tried to lean down to see into his eyes, but he avoided her gaze. A horrible feeling settled in her bones.

"How did you know, Batman?" Zsasz asked quietly. Unlike the malice that usually graced his voice, there was nothing - no inflection. He sounded so _defeated_.

"Oh no," Danielle whispered.

"That chemical I found floating in your veins… I had seen it before," Batman explained. "When I collected Rā's al Ghūl's blood to counter the TITAN sickness during Arkham City, it was a perfect match to the regenerative compound Mr. Freeze needed to stabilize the antidote. _Lazarus._ Rā's al Ghūl resurrected you, didn't he, Zsasz? You really did die three years ago, and up until two weeks ago, you were his prisoner the whole time…"

Danielle's mouth hung open in horror as she looked at Zsasz. _He really did return from the dead. I killed him._

"And what makes you think that was the _only_ time I died during the last three years?" Zsasz asked coldly, eliciting gasps from Catwoman and Danielle.

"He put you in his pit, either long enough, or so many times, that it erased your marks, made you younger… and it quite possibly erased your memory as well," Batman continued. "Or maybe when you returned to Gotham, you had recently been submerged beforehand, and you had lost your identity temporarily… Or maybe it had something to do with that chip we recovered from your head. What happened, Zsasz? Did he train you? Induct you into the League of Shadows, or—"

"He used him," sneered Poison Ivy. "Used him as his personal slave. Told him to go kill, and he followed like a good, mindless little soldier. It was _beautiful_. I can only imagine the filthy meatsacks he must have slaughtered! Rā's was very proud of him."

"Like you were any better!" Zsasz shot back. "I saw the way you fawned over him in the beginning!"

"But why? Slaughter is something Zsasz is good at on his own-" ignoring Zsasz's soft, sarcastic "why thank you, Batman", he continued, "Why would Rā's make Zsasz his slave? And _how?_"

"Mmm mmm mmm. Loose lips and all that, Batman."

"Who is this Rā's al Ghūl?!" Danielle burst out. "Who is he that he can control life and death?!"

Batman, Poison Ivy, Catwoman, and Zsasz all exchanged a look.

"Rā's al Ghūl is a man who has been alive for 600 years," Batman began.

"As I said, his greatest ambition is to cull humanity so that we may have an ecological utopia. In short, he's an eco-terrorist," Poison Ivy continued.

"He's one of Batman's oldest enemies, though he's crossed paths with all of us from time to time." Catwoman added, "He has a daughter named Talia. One of Batman's former girlfriends. Every bit as homicidal as her father." Batman gave her a harsh look. "You know it's the truth, Batman!"

"Rā's al Ghūl has these… Lazarus Pits." Zsasz sensed her real confusion. He struggled to explain, hating that he could remember so much. "They contain a bath of chemicals… they are naturally occurring, much like an oil well. Except these Lazarus Pits have regenerative properties. They can save a sick person from dying, and they can even revive the dead. I know it sounds crazy-"

"It does," Danielle admitted. "But… well, we live in Gotham. Gotham is all about crazy." She shrugged and nodded to Ivy. "I just met a woman who can control plants with her thoughts, I don't think I have room to talk. It's just- is he like a God or something? Why hasn't anyone else found these Lazarus Pits? Why hasn't this guy been in the news if he's so infamous?"

"He's got good publicity, maybe?"

"He leads an organization called the Leagues of Shadows. Ninjas."

Danielle nodded to the unconscious bodies of the ninjas around them. "I can see that."

"They do his dirty work. Assassinations, moving illegal cargo, captures as well apparently… Rā's has amassed a large amount of wealth to fund his operations."

"His daughter's no slouch either. I heard that she's got a special project in mind, especially for you, Batman. She's practically obsessed with it. When the bitch wasn't torturing me - what, don't look at me that way, she deserves the title! - she was ranting and raving on and _on _about how her father would see the house of al Ghūl glorified. Mother Gaia, it was annoying! I just wanted to strangle her with my vines!"

"Really, Pammy, you want to strangle _everyone_ with your vines. Do you get some kind of sexual thrill from it?"

"Well, I did tie up Wonder Woman once…" Ivy said coyly. Batman's eyes widened.

"Really?" Catwoman purred.

Ivy shrugged dismissively. "She got away."

Batman smirked. Catwoman gave him a dirty look before turning back to Ivy, almost casually checking her "nails". "So does Harley know about your little vine-and-lasso session with Wonder Woman?"

Ivy glared at her suddenly. "Harley needs to be kept safe! Promise me you won't breathe a word of what's spoken here tonight!"

"Whoa, chill, Red! What's—"

"Don't you get it, you fools?" Ivy sneered. "The ultimate plan? Rā's al Ghūl's ultimate plot to destroy the world?"

"Aside from trying unsuccessfully to steal your powers?"

"He needs a champion for his cause, and he's planning to resurrect _him_!" Ivy shrieked. "That psychotic creep, that clown — _Joker!"_

_"WHAT?!"_

Everyone turned to look at Batman. He still appeared to be stoic, but his jaw was popping and twitching, the only sign of his inner turmoil. And everyone knew why. Joker had been Batman's most important enemy, before he died four years ago. If he came back...

"That's the entire reason why I broke out of Rā's lair!" Ivy continued to rant. "Like I am going to let that psychotic creep take away everything I've done for Harl…"

"Harley Quinn is still in Arkham Asylum," Batman intoned, and Ivy visibly relaxed. "As long as word doesn't get out, she'll have no idea that her puddin' even has a shot at resurrection. We need to keep this under our hats."

"Suit yourself, Batman, but I warn you, if that clown comes back—"

"He won't," Batman said fiercely. "I'll stop him!"

"Zsasz…" Catwoman looked at him curiously. "If Rā's is resurrecting the _Joker_ to be his champion… Then am I right in guessing you were a test subject, a trial run of sorts?"

Now Ivy looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"The Joker and the al Ghūls had bad blood," Catwoman elaborated. "If they really wanted Joker for their champion," her eyes darted over to Batman, but he wouldn't return her gaze, "Then they would want some sort of way to ensure he wouldn't betray them. Especially as he had chronic backstabbing syndrome or whatever." Her eyes lit up. "The beacon in the back of your head! They used it to control you, didn't they?"

"It was a failsafe for when I…disobeyed," Zsasz said softly. "The Joker's murderous tendencies are similar to my own… Or rather, similar in terms of his insatiability. They would have wanted to make sure they could keep the Joker on a leash..."

"So they collared you first."

Zsasz glared hatefully at Batman.

"They made him hear voices," Danielle murmured. "When I saw him, he was half out of his mind, yelling at people who weren't there, people who stole his marks. So that's what happened to you, Zsasz…" Her voice was heavy with regret: "You became his victim."

"Now Danielle, I know you don't want anyone to know all the intimate secrets _you and I_ share - _you would think you'd know to respect my secrets as well!"_ Zsasz snapped. Danielle looked down, chastized.

"Zsasz," Batman said warningly. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you honestly think I would be this fixated on Danielle if I merely wanted to _kill her?" _Zsasz leered at them.

The other three looked back and forth between the two, and one by one it dawned on them. Batman looked away. Poison Ivy's mouth fell open. And Catwoman...

Before anyone else could move, Catwoman stalked over to Zsasz. _WHAM!_ Zsasz's head flew back from the force of her punch. "You bastard!" Catwoman raged. "So _that's_ what you did to her! _That_ explains why she was so much worse off than your other survivors! Any other victims I should know about? Anyone else you _sexually assaulted?!"_ She held up her hand, popping one claw at a time. "Tell me right now, or I swear to you-"

"Enough." Batman took Danielle by the arm and led her away from the others. She could hear Catwoman continuing to shout at Zsasz.

Batman put his hands on her shoulders. It was noticeably gentler than he had earlier that same evening.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, and Danielle hung her head. She knew he was right. She wasn't going to argue with him anymore.

"Please go home. You've had enough of an ordeal tonight, you don't need to see any more. Take care of yourself. Let us handle this monster."

She nodded, trying to stay strong. "Alright."

He leaned closer to her. "When you get your new phone, it will have a code in it so you can contact me. If you need me, if he comes anywhere near you, dial #2287."

_The numeric code for 'BATS'. _She almost smiled. "I got it." She wanted to say so much more, but the words wouldn't come out. Giving Batman one more nod, she turned and slipped out of the clearing of cars and into the maze of buildings. Zsasz watched her go.

Catwoman's snapping words brought him back and he glared at her for interrupting. "Don't you dare go watching her walk away! You don't deserve to-"

"Catwoman." It was Batman. "Could you come over here, please?"

Catwoman threw up her hands in frustration, but went over to him. Zsasz could hear them whispering, no doubt about himself and Danielle.

Poison Ivy looked curiously at him. There was a long silence, and then Zsasz broke it.

"Could I possibly interest you in a deal, Ivy?"

* * *

"I can't believe what that creep's been doing to her!" Catwoman raged.

"Neither can I," Batman agreed. "I didn't ever imagine Zsasz to be capable of something like that."

"Well where he's going, he won't have time to worry about it!"

"Which brings me to the real reason I brought us over here: how are we going to make them spill the location?"

* * *

"What's this deal, Zsasz?" Ivy snapped. In spite of her own seduction of countless weak-willed men, she didn't want to spend too much time talking to this _rapist. _Did this make her a hypocrite with double standards? Quite possibly, but she really didn't care.

"You make a little potion up for me using your pheromones, and I free both of us."

Ivy scoffed. "Even if you could really free us, why should I?"

_Click!_

Zsasz grinned at Ivy's shocked face. "Did you really think I learned nothing during my time with the League of Shadows?" He held up Batman's previously unbreakable batcuffs with a smirk, and just as quickly put the blade to Ivy's throat.

"Now make me a potion, and I won't cut you."

"I'll scream!"

"You'll scream if I don't let you go free. I'll keep my word, Poison Ivy. Make me the potion, and you will have your freedom. Do it quickly! We don't have much time."

Ivy sighed, "What kind of potion?"

* * *

"We could threaten to tell Harley about Joker. That might make Red talk."

"No good. She might just clam up even more."

"It's worth a shot, though."

* * *

"…Just a little bit more."

Zsasz was holding an empty beer bottle to Ivy's face. All the nymph's remaining strength was pouring into producing sweat. Drops fell from the tip of her nose and down the neck of the bottle, collecting inside. It wasn't ordinary sweat; it was thick and golden and smelled vaguely sweet. When the bottle was an eighth full, Poison Ivy stopped, gasping.

"There, it's finished! Now let me go free!"

"Of course," Zsasz smiled creepily and began to pick the cuffs with his knife.

* * *

"Or we could-"

"Wait a second," Batman cut her off. He looked around grimly, and Catwoman followed his gaze, gasping when she noticed...

_The unconscious ninja were gone!_

"Get Zsasz and Ivy!"

Before they could move, smoke filled the air. And they were beseiged a second time by a wave of assassins!

* * *

It took longer this time, but Batman and Catwoman finally managed to beat back the ninjas, who retreated hastily in another cloud of smoke. Gasping for breath, the weary superheroes made their way back toward the van. Instead of Ivy and Zsasz, two neatly stacked batcuffs lay in the dirt. Batman picked them up.

Catwoman sniffed the air. "Do you think the ninjas took them, or-?"

"I don't know," Batman answered. "But I don't think we've seen the last of them."

**-/-/-/-/-**


	18. Chapter 17: Mementos

_A/N: Hi everyone! Unfortunately, due to some health issues, I might not be able to update as frequently as I usually do. And there might be more errors in my writing, as I'm having a lot more trouble being coherent lately. I'll try to catch them anyway. I apologize in advance. _

_4S, yep, to be honest I feel kinda sorry for Zsasz and Ivy. Zsasz was driven mad(der than he already was) and Ivy just wanted to save her plants. Rā's was not kind to them..._

_Enjoy! :)_

Disclaimer: I don't own Batman. Or Zsasz. Too bad. :P

-0-

**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Seventeen: MEMENTOS-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

The car ride home was beyond awkward.

"Why did you come out tonight, Selina? You know it's risky for us to be seen together."

"You're right! It's not as if in all our years we've ever _worked together before _or anything like that! It's not as if we _met on the job! _What will the criminal paparazzi think?!"

"You know what I mean! You're married to Bruce Wayne, if anyone ever put the connection together…"

"You think that Batman is the only one with enemies? I have just as many as you do, big guy, and we knew these risks when we—"

Batman sighed. "Enough. I get it. I know what we discussed already. It's just, we need to talk about these things before they happen."

"We do talk about them. It always goes the same way: 'hey Bruce, need my help tonight?', 'No, be a good stay-at-home mother and keep out of the Batcave!'."

"You exaggerate."

"Hardly."

They remained silent for several minutes, both pouting and staring out the windows of the Batmobile.

Selina sighed. "Aren't you going to at least ask me what I did today, before I met up with you?"

Batman rolled his eyes, clearly not wanting to play 'happy couples' at the moment. "Another successful meeting?"

"Not today. I have a surprise for you, darling, back at the Batcave actually..."

Batman eyed her but decided not to press the issue. Whatever it was, he would see soon enough.

* * *

"I can't believe this…"

"Which part?"

"The part about you being able to _organize _all of this, and right under my nose! Selina..."

Selina quietly watched as her husband took in the Batcave. Upon first glance, nothing looked out of the ordinary. The Batwing, Batboat, Batmobile, Batcomputer… everything was in its place. Selina's touch was subtle, and Batman found himself in awe of this woman once again.

Selina had turned part of the massive Batcave into a proper _gallery_.

"I found all your old trophies while I was dusting down here." Batman knew "dusting" was code for snooping but let her continue. "It was a shame to see them all kept so haphazardly. I know… that in many ways, the Rogues are your true family, Batman… I thought…"

Batman stepped around her to look more closely at the displays.

The first thing he saw was a Scarface doll. But there was something special about this one… it was painted to look like a mini Joker. He remembered; this was one of the ones Mugsy Binks had made for Joker to curry favor with him.

On the wall next to Joker-Scarface was one of Mr. Freeze's guns… An operational one. Batman discretely looked around his cave to see if anything had "mysteriously" been frozen. Nope. The kitty wasn't _too_ curious, then.

A few things had always been inside the Batcave - the T-Rex, the giant penny, the oversized playing card, to name a few. But countless other trinkets and trophies had gone from his adventures straight into the closet, occasionally falling off the shelves. He'd just never had the time to organize them.

There was a jeweler's display case further along, with six individual sections. The first one contained Two-Face's original scarred coin; he'd lost it years ago and had it replaced. The second contained one of Deadshot's custom-made bullets, his name delicately engraved into the metal. The third had a tube of Poison Ivy's infamous lipstick. Batman hadn't had that one; Selina must have procured it herself.

The fourth one made Batman catch his breath a little, even though it was from his own collection. Delicately, like a ring being presented, sat one of Joker's joy buzzers. The knowledge that the Clown Prince of Crime might someday wear his joy buzzer again, might someday terrorize and murder again, made what he had learned earlier tonight all the more real. What was he going to do?

The fifth section contained Zsasz's special gambling chips and dice. The sixth held a container of Renuyu.

Batman's eyes swept the walls, all the cases that hung there, all the mementos. One of Penguin's umbrellas, Ratcatcher's equipment, the special cowl the Mad Hatter had made him wear, two Riddler trophies - one pink and one green, one of Calendar Man's yearlong calendars, one of Firefly's flamethrowers, Harley's mallet, even a Voice of Arkham tablet! One wall held the blueprints for Arkham City.

"I thought those had been destroyed by Two-Face."

"He did destroy them. I got the memory card back and printed off another copy. Just for old times' sake."

Batman nodded, turning to another wall, one containing a macabre-looking case with some of Killer Croc's teeth, one of Bane's original masks, and a wall full of Hush articles.

"You know… this is my first time trying to _make_ a museum display case instead of rob one…"

"How did you get all these artifacts?" Batman cut in. Some of them were ones that he hadn't collected. "Did you rob Arkham or something?"

"…Maybe," Catwoman said sheepishly.

"Selina," he chided her, but his eyes remained on the displays, impressed.

He stopped as he saw the display case with Deathstroke's sword in it. A second sword had been added to it.

He gazed solemnly at the scimitar, at the shape and design of the handle especially, before turning to Catwoman.

It hadn't been easy for Selina to retrieve the huge blade. When the Monarch Theatre had collapsed, mostly thanks to Joker's explosions, the descent into the former Lazarus Pit had been extremely unstable. Everything had been blackened and covered with ash and clay. Catwoman had managed to find the sword though – the one Batman had used to battle Clayface. The same one Talia had held just before she was killed.

"Now he's back," Catwoman said softly. "Maybe they both are. Did you know? Did you have any idea this was happening?"

Batman looked away guiltily.

"You did know," Selina's voice stayed gentle, but a firmness crept into it. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He was silent. What could he possibly have said to her? That Rā's and Talia might be back? That his ex-girlfriend and once love of his life might have returned? That it tore him up to remember what had happened, and that he might have to fight them both to save the world once again? He couldn't share with her the way his gut tightened, the way he had the feeling even now that there was something more at work here. That he knew somehow that once again, it would be personal.

His wife stared at him, waiting silently for him to answer her. Her eyes dropped when he didn't.

"I only have one thing left to show you, Batman…" Selina said softly. He wondered if it would be her back, her rejection. She turned away and led him to a deeper corner of the Batcave. On their way, they passed by the outfit displays – Batman's eyes caught on something. There were two new cases – Catwoman had added two costumes. _Hers._ The first was her original grey and black costume, and the second one was her purple costume, the one she had worn during the Holiday case. For Selina to put her costumes in there, next to the Robins and Batgirls of the past… It meant that she considered herself in the same class. It meant that she finally truly saw herself a member of the Bat Family.

Batman was speechless.

Selina had stopped by a thin crevice. It looked almost like a narrow doorway. She slipped in. A moment later, a light turned on inside.

Batman shimmied in after her.

It was clear she had saved the best for last. The Grey Ghost's original costume was in the center of the display. All around was his memorabilia – one of the toy cars from the Mad Bomber episode, a model of the Grey Ghost's cave, the one he had based his own Batcave on. An entire half of the little room contained shelves of old reels – every single episode of the Grey Ghost's series.

The kindly old Simon Trent had died last year. Bruce Wayne and Batman both had mourned him very deeply; just as Thomas Wayne was Bruce Wayne's father, in a way, the Grey Ghost had been Batman's. He had been his role model growing up, and a true kindred spirit.

Batman breathed in slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. He couldn't break right now. Not with all the things that were on his mind to figure out. But he needed to thank the extraordinary woman in front of him for all she had done.

"Selina—"

"I think I should leave you alone now, Bruce," she said in the same level tone. He gritted his teeth in frustration. Couldn't she see he was trying?

No. No, of course not. This was something he would have to solve for himself. Just like always.

She left without a word, and for all his insightfulness, Batman failed to realize how hard Catwoman had been trying too.

* * *

Nighttime over Gotham. Or dusk, rather, though it was hard to tell through the storm clouds.

Zsasz stood on the Aparo Expressway looking out at the city. Gasoline and exhaust soaked the air, and in the distance, skyscrapers blinked through the clouds of soot and ice. No matter how hard the rain scrubbed, it never made the city any cleaner.

The rain was heavy on his shoulders. Thunder crashed overhead. If Maximilian Zeus were here…

_HONK!_

"An impatient piggy makes their opinion known," Zsasz mused sardonically to himself. "Let's see if any of the other piggies care…" Sure enough, a moment later another car responded, then another, the drivers lost in a sea of lights that stretched endlessly beneath the weeping sky. The freeway was crowded; the zombies in their cars had been waiting for 20 minutes, with barely an inch forward. There must an accident somewhere, surely, otherwise they wouldn't be sitting and honking and impatiently waiting to hurry to _absolutely nowhere_. What was it about owning a car that made these zombies feel they had greater purpose? A greater destination, accessible only with four wheels and an endless supply of fuel? Had these dreams of theirs been so unattainable before? Or was the possession of their car part of the dream, a physical manifestation of freedom?

Zsasz knew freedom. He _was_ freedom; ever since his higher purpose had been revealed to him 15 years ago, he had found that there was nowhere he could not go, nothing he couldn't do… Until the last three years, but those were exceptional times. And right now, standing in the rain on a crowded, depressing freeway, derelict and cast away, he rejoiced once again in his liberation._  
_

No one would think to look for him here, hidden as he was in plain view. It was all too common for the bums of Gotham to crawl along these thoroughfares, unable to afford simple bus fare. No one looked twice at a poor person; the poor were invisible, unthreatening.

Oh, these piggies thought that their metal death boxes would protect them from the world… No. In fact, their illusion of safety only made them more vulnerable to a predator such as himself.

He smiled under his hood at the zombies. It would be _so easy _to simply walk up to a car, break through the fragile window, and cut a zombie right then. No need to pose them; the seatbelt would do it well enough for him. Oh, imagine the panic if it weren't an accident causing the jam on the freeway, but rather an "_on purpose"._

...But if he did that, the _Batman_ would get him. Batman must be on high alert since his and Poison Ivy's escape from right under their noses. It would behoove Zsasz to lay low for a few days… Or at least make his kills in a more concealed location.

Oh, but these piggies were just _waiting_ to be slaughtered, sitting neatly in their cars all lined up for the butcher's knife!

He saw an overweight man inside a Volkswagen, cigar smoke all around him. How could he even drive with all that smoke? Then again, perhaps that was the point - the man wished to be blind to his own destiny. In a smaller trendier car was a girl with a pad of paper on her lap. He could see the sketches of a bird. _An artist._ He pictured capturing her, forcing her to draw depraved violence before he killed her. His mind flashed back to that aspiring artist Mr. Carpenter… he'd done a similar thing to him, once upon a time.

In a red car, there was a middle-aged woman, and in the passenger seat a younger woman, a student perhaps. They were yelling about something, maybe the papers on the young woman's lap. _Ahh, a domestic fight over homework._ The mother was pointing impatiently at the papers, and the teenaged daughter threw up her hands, scattering the pages onto her feet. The older woman gave her a stern look and said something that caused the young woman's eyes to fill with tears. Reluctantly, she began to pick up the papers.

Zsasz knew that they would repeat this exact scene tomorrow, and the next day, until Christmas Break, where they might or might not have a good holiday depending on how much family drama was on the menu… And then they would go right back to the same fight day in, day out, until the girl graduated and finished her studies… And someday she would marry and have children of her own and repeat the exact same cycle from the other end. Meanwhile the mother would grow older and greyer, until finally her child left the home, and in a few years time she would have grandchildren, growing older and older, while her husband sought younger and younger women as pasttimes. She would die eventually, having given her whole life for others' needs, never living her own dreams.

And endless loop of misery.

"Life and death are the same thread," he absently quoted Lao Tzu, "viewed from different ends."

He spoke louder, as if the women inside the warm stationwagon could hear his words:

"You are already dead! You just don't know it yet."

This would be a perfect place to preach his great sermon, to grant salvation, like the ascent from the mountain. He could see the headlines in the papers: Ascension on Aparo Expressway! He looked down at the slums below, the miserable houses, the freeway raised above them. He smiled in ecstasy, imagining a river of red running down the freeway and pouring onto the ghetto below. He could look everywhere and see a sea of slaughtered piggies in their cars – oh, what glorious imaginings! He could carve out their throats—

His thoughts trailed off as he stared back at the glittering city. Even in fog… it was beautiful. _His home_.

Zsasz leaned on the railing and stared out at the sea. The rush of the cars was loud in his ears but when he really concentrated, he could hear the lapping of the waves from Gotham Bay.

He could see his bridge twinkling, almost hidden by the buildings in between. The Sprang Bridge was lower than the Aparo Expressway, but it still towered above the water. _A fall from this height could kill a man._

It had.

_Him._

Arkham Island rose out of the Bay, a shadow. Zsasz pictured himself drifting the long distance between the Sprang Bridge and there.

Had his body floated out unseen when he died? Had he gone under? Was he intact when he washed upon the shores of Arkham Island, cold and dead, only to be salvaged by Rā's al Ghūl, or so he said? He did not want to imagine. What had the crazy old man seen when he stared down at Zsasz? Had he seen a mere tool, a slave for him to use, indebted to him for saving his life? Or worse… had he seen someone _weak?_ Someone who could easily become his…

_Victim._

That was what Danielle had called him the other night…_ a victim._

Zsasz's skin prickled, and he realized that the left side of his face was twitching.

Eyes narrowing, he stared balefully out at Arkham Island, as the lighthouse gleamed round and round.

_I wish that madman had never found me._

**_. _**

**_._**

**_._**

_The first thing he senses, is that he possesses consciousness._

_Coldness. Darkness. So deep in that he cannot escape._

_Time passes quietly, frozen. Oblivious._

_A burning through the darkness. As if his body is alit with a thousand flames. He groans._

_Green fills his vision. Burning through his retinas. Green lightning all around. Every nerve in his body screams. Is he dying?_

_No. No, it's worse than that._

_He is alive **now**._

_Danielle? The thought is slow to come, and yet she is the first thing he thinks of. Is she here?_

_He coughs, liquid filling his mouth. But instead of choking to death, the liquid burns his throat and fills his veins, as if gasoline instead of blood were running through them._

_He throws back his head, screams renting the air. He has never, never felt so alive—_

_When he returns to consciousness he is lying on his back. But he cannot get up. Cuffs bind him to the ground. He is shirtless, staring at a cold cavernous ceiling. Rock, maybe._

_Where is Danielle? He vaguely remembers that she did not fall with him. She was saved. And miraculously, it seems so was he… He is alive. That means they can be together! As long as she hasn't committed suicide… he must find her quickly! Hopefully, Zsasz turns his head in desperate search for his alive girl_—__

_Ten, maybe twelve people! _

__Zsasz's heart thunders. He is s_urrounded! __His muscles bunch and ripple, but he cannot move. _

_They all have swords, and he is at their mercy!_

_The thought fills the Butcher with cold, murderous rage. _

_They are not moving to attack, but he can sense they are at the ready. What are they waiting for?_

_If he gets free for even an instant—_

_Slow footsteps. Zsasz cranes his head to see. Black boots, black silken pants._

_The footsteps pass him. Zsasz can see a head of black hair, a white skunk stripe near the ear. All the lieutenants raise their swords in respect as the man passes by. Zsasz tries to calm his breathing and slow his heart. The man finally stops._

_As Zsasz waits, dying of anticipation, all thoughts of his alive girl gone and focusing only on survival, the man begins to speak—_

**_._**

**_._**

**_._**

SCREEECH!

Quick reflexes came to his aide. He jumped back, and a sedan crashed into the piling where he had been standing instants before.

A knife was instantly in his hand.

He shook his head, disoriented, trying to return to the present.

A head of brown hair popped out of the driver's side. A skittish looking young man, with glasses that magnified the bags under his eyes. He looked a great deal like Danielle's student Theodore… But not the same man. Still, Zsasz's hand trembled with anticipation.

"I'm so sorry!" the guy yelled. "You OK? I just lost control, I didn't know the ice was so thick there! Are you alright, man?"

Zsasz contemplated for a long moment. He was fine, of course. It took more than a slip of the wheel to kill a serial killer. But this little piggy's eyes shone with fear, and the fear was savory sweet. He could do it. The knife itched in his hand, though the piggy didn't notice…

"I'm alright," Zsasz called back, flashing a winning smile. The hoodie hid the lone scar on his forehead well. There was no obvious clue pointing to who he was; he was safe.

"I'm so sorry! You're not going to sue me, are you?"

"No. You have nothing to worry about, Mr.-?"

"Ian Berger, and you are-?"

"Victor."

"Victor," the man came over to shake his hand. "Here's my card, just in case." He gave Zsasz a piece of paper, then he hastily got back into his car, trying to start it. From the looks of it, he would need a tow truck and in this weather and traffic jam, help would be slow to come…

Zsasz looked at the card with a smirk... and pocketed it. He would get him later. After all, he practically had an invitation now.

He continued walking along the Aparo Expressway, his thoughts returning to the previous matter. He really would have to do something about Rā's al Ghūl. And he'd need to make sure he didn't die this time… Though he supposed if he killed Rā's, he'd have the Lazarus Pits all to himself. It didn't matter either way. He savored mortality. It was all that really mattered in the world.

Yes. He would find Rā's and carve off his head. He wouldn't pose him – he would dismember him and hide the pieces of his body so far apart that his legions could never resurrect him. And the same would go for Talia. He gritted his teeth. He could see her smirk, her sword at his throat-

Talia's face morphed into another brunette's. One with dark intense brown eyes, a feisty smile, scars slashing from forehead to cheek and across her nose…

"Ahh, Danielle… I found you again after all, against all odds."

Zsasz's shrill laughter rang out in the wind. Finally, he stepped off the other side of the Expressway and down into the populous streets. The smile, whimsical and crazy, never left his face.

Once he finished with Rā's, he could get on with his life. And this time, Danielle would be part of it.

"I will show her that I am not a victim." His whisper was drowned out in the rain. "You called me out of my name, Alive Girl. I am not a victim. I am a _savior_. I am _the Butcher_."

Rā's had called him Killer.

Zsasz shivered against the cold - the sun had set behind the storm clouds and Gotham was plunging further into the night. It hadn't always been so dark in Rā's world, he idly realized. In fact, there had been times of great light. They had traveled the entire planet, seeing so many different places and people, more than Zsasz had ever seen before in his life. And of course, as a servant of the Great Rā's al Ghūl, Zsasz had earned his nickname many times over.

It had taken him three years, but he had escaped from Rā's cage. He was _not _Rā's victim. Even when the Penguin had cheated him out of his money, even when that disgusting midget had imprisoned him in his torture museum, he had broken out and gotten free. He was _not _Penguin's victim. And even when Batman had locked him inside of one of his own cages in the Industrial District...

"My name is not Victim. My name is _Victor_."

_No one would ever convince him otherwise._

He was _Victor._ And bereft as he was, Victor kept trophies of his past victims. His _marks_.

His mementos had been taken from him. It was time to get them all back. It was time to remake the marks and resurrect his temple. Show the world who he really was.

He smiled, feeling warm suddenly. "Looks like my Monday tomorrow might not be so mundane after all…"

**_-/-/-/-/-_**


	19. Chapter 18: The Quest, Part 1

A very big light has left our world today. :( Rest In Peace, Robin Williams. Rest In Peace, Genie. Fighting the depression day after day, year after year, is a special kind of hell, but you did anyway, Mr. Williams, and you were so **brave** to do that for so long! Thank you for the wonderful memories you've given us, the works of art you left behind — a large and important piece of our childhoods.

A/N: Thank you for the reviews, 4S and Jim. They meant a lot to me. 4S, nothing too scary, just have some long-term migraine stuff. Staring at the computer or TV for too long tends to make them worse. Didn't mean to worry you, my friend. Jim, two reviews, thank you so much! :) Thank you for the word choice catch on Ch 13 (how does "defeated" sound instead?). Sadly, no more Crane until the Epilogue. True, he probably wouldn't want to join Rā's mad plot to wipe out humanity. I think he and Ivy are mirror images for each other - both ecoterrorists and supreme misanthropes, sexist to an extent (Poison Ivy against men, Rā's against women), and both love the color green… Alas, they could have been perfect for each other, if they didn't clash so much...

-0-

**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Eighteen: THE QUEST, Part One-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

Zsasz sat up in the overly small bathtub. Red water rolled off his shoulders, and he sighed contentedly.

The water was piping hot from the old furnace he had used to heat it. Luckily there were coals down here, in spite of the muck and grime. And there was even a convenient pulley to draw water out of the moat below. He didn't want to think about how clean the water was. Surely the heat would have killed anything unsavory. And while the water itself was icy blue, it was surrounded by tubes of green liquid running up long metal braces, lest the roof come tumbling down.

"Ahhhh…" he leaned his head back and smiled.

For once, it wasn't the blood of the piggies that was covering him. It was _his own._

168 marks. His glorious work was one-third complete; he had managed to re-scar himself on his chest, arms, shoulders, back — though that one was difficult. He wasn't finished, no, not yet. But he needed to give his body time to heal. It wouldn't do to pass out again.

He chewed a piece of stale bread thoughtfully as he looked in the dusty mirror.

He had regained some weight this past week. Before he was emaciated, practically skeletal. But now there was a healthy flush in his cheeks. He grinned. A wicked smile full of malice. And a world, unsuspecting, waiting just for him...

The green light from below bounced off the walls and his wet skin. In the dimness, it made it look as though he were covered with black blood.

_A young boy, falling before his knife- The cries of a mother-_

Zsasz shuddered, and his stomach lurched.

"Not tonight," he whispered before holding up his knife once more. He paused. The wounds on his forehead had not fully healed. He had been treating them with Neosporin, as per usual when he received a mark he didn't care for. Once again, he thought of Danielle and her baseball bat, and in response, his head wounds pulsed again. She really had grown, hadn't she? Same fire, different magnitude.

He grinned and raised the knife again resolutely. No sense in waiting. When he saw her next, he intended to look his best.

Three slashes later (for he had already created the one on the day of the Gotham Square Massacre), and the tally on his forehead was restored. Blood dripped into his eyes and down his lips. Instinctively, he licked.

"Hahaha… _Hahahahahaa!_" What started as a low laugh burst forth in vigor, and with the salty taste tainting his palate, Victor Zsasz felt ever closer to being whole.

* * *

It was well into Monday evening when he called her again. Bathed, wearing a warm hoodie to conceal his marks, he had strolled at his leisure to one of his favorite phone booths. It was in a rough neighborhood, of course. One where the police even hated to venture. There were residents all around. There were also pickpockets, thieves, probably even small-time criminals. He kept his eyes open as he dialed the now-familiar number.

"Hello?"

He closed his eyes and smiled at the sound of her voice. "Good evening, my Alive Girl."

After a second, she replied, "Hello, Zsasz."

"I just had to call you to ask how your _dear_ friends are doing," his voice was sly. "By any chance, are they still in the hospital?"

He expected her to freak out, to show her famous temper. "They're fine, Zsasz. How are you doing this evening?"

"I- what?" The question caught him off-guard, and he stared at the phone incredulously. "Why- why did you ask me that?" _She should be worrying over the fates of her precious piggies!_

"I just want to know how you're doing."

"You _never_ ask me these kinds of questions." A jolt of paranoia crept in. "What are you playing at, woman?!"

For a moment he thought she might laugh, or even scoff at him, say something snarky — anything normal. But she spoke in a low, resigned tone instead.

"Maybe I just want to know... Maybe it's because I care."

Now he was completely bewildered. "What do you care about?" _Was she admitting she… cared about him?_

"What happened to you when you were Rā's prisoner?"

_Oh no she didn't._

"...You have the _audacity_ to…" he growled. "Do you pity me, Danielle? Is that why you're asking me, or are you trying to thrust the knife in a little deeper?"

"Zsasz, you've been off ever since you came back. Whatever happened to you… it was serious. Ignoring it isn't going to help you."

"What is there to tell? He experimented on me. He used me! Are you happy?!" he shrilled.

"Why would that make me happy…?" She sounded genuinely irritated. "It wouldn't be in my morals, let alone my _job description_, to be happy about someone being victimized. In fact, it's part of my job description to take it _seriously_ when a person's been abused."

"So this is all just something you're doing in the name of your self-defense work? What, do you hope to reform me, force me to lay down my sacred mission, and set me on the path of 'good and righteousness' so that I won't kill anyone anymore?!"

"Yes."

"I knew it!"

"I hope you won't kill anyone anymore, starting with YOURSELF, Zsasz. You aren't healthy. I truly don't think you've been healthy since your parents died, have you? You've been in _agony_ for so long… What if I want to help you just because I can't stand _anyone _being in so much pain?"

He didn't answer – he wondered where she was going with this.

"My main work is to help people overcome their traumas. It's to help people gain back their self-confidence and heal after someone robbed it from them! I recognize the signs of abuse, even if you don't recognize them in yourself. You're a victim... _Victor_. Rā's took something from you — your agency and your well-being — and made you into a victim! You need help. You need to heal."

"Don't you dare call me a victim!"

"It's the truth!" she stated vehemently. "Don't run from it, it doesn't make you weak-"

"I _need_ to kill him!" His self-control suddenly snapped. "I need his mark!"

"I know you do," she tried to soothe him. "I know what he did to you is probably eating you up inside. I want to help you!"

"I don't need anyone's help!" He tore his forehead scabs in his frustration. Blood stained his fingers and dripped down his brow.

"You think you don't! You… you think you're all alone…" she muttered, "because for the last three years, you _were_ alone. That must have been _horrible_. I can relate. I… you know, this is something I really struggle with. _You_ put _me_ through something very similar…" He scoffed; he remembered, of course. "You'd think I'd be happy you suffered too. But… but when I think of you going through this, _anyone_ going through it… I get sick inside."

"So this is really just about assuaging your own feelings?"

"No-... No. You probably won't believe this. Why would you?" She took a deep breath. "For the longest time, I've wanted nothing more than to see you get better. Get to the point where your world isn't so dark anymore, and you don't hurt others to fill up your own emptiness. I'm... here for you, Zsasz, in spite of everything you've ever done to me. It's not just my self-defense teacher side coming out… It's always been personal between us, hasn't it? You are forever a part of my life, Victor Zsasz. And I am a permanent part of yours."

Nostalgia swept through him. He had said words with the same sentiment to her three years ago, after she had tried to kill him in the abandoned building. To hear her say them now… It made him unexpectedly warm inside.

"It must be hard, someone like you, who is used to feeling power over others… feeling so powerless over himself."

"It's not about power," he murmured. "It's never been about power. It's about doing what I'm capable of doing, and what I know needs to be done. Curing these victims of their meaningless lives-"

"It _is _about power! Why else would you scar yourself for each person?"

"To remember them! They must not be forgotten! None of them must be forgotten!" He sighed. "My dime is running out. I need to go soon."

"Of course. But there's something I need to clarify with you before you do."

"What is it?"

"Go after my friends again, and you won't ever hear from me again. Is that clear?"

His heart jolted. He tried to keep his voice calm. "Empty threats, Danielle?"

"No. You-" she chuckled mirthlessly. "You have no idea just how much I _mean this_. It's something I've been thinking very seriously about, and yes, I know your mercy only extends up to a certain point. It's simple, really. If you were to go after my friends again, I _wouldn't be able _to speak to you. Iknow my limits, that's all. It won't matter if you torture me or kill me outright. Now... if that doesn't matter to you, then… well, it is what it is. Enjoy your solitude. If, on the other hand, you value our conversations and our connection as much as you say you do, then…"

"Even if I do value our conversations, why should I agree to your terms?"

"Leave my friends alone, and I promise you something… I will never ignore you. You will have my undivided attention." He sucked in his breath. "I will never _leave you,_ Zsasz." He could hear the smile in her voice. "Does that sound like a deal?"

* * *

_Finally, they were playing the same game. Good. There would be no rest from now on. For either of them._

One more sacrifice today, and everything would be in place.

Last night seemed so far away now...

She had done what she had to last night. And today, she would do what she had to again.

She unlocked her office. No crisp white note sitting on her desk. She breathed a sigh of relief; the nightmare really was over. Though one of her scarves was mysteriously lying on the floor… It smelled vaguely like cologne. _Hmm._

She cleaned the mats. Filled out paperwork, including signed a notice of certification that the direct threat to her students was now behind bars and classes were safe to resume.

She waited for her students to arrive. When they did, she told them the good news. Their classes were finally safe again. When she saw the happiness on her students' faces, and the way they began hugging each other, she made a vow to herself then and there that they would never have to fear for their safety again. _Not in her sanctuary._ She would protect her classroom by whatever means necessary...

Her students had a different energy today. Lighter. More confident. The news had boosted their determination so much higher, and their teamwork too. She even heard Theodore telling them tales of their exploits on Friday night. They came over, wanting to congratulate her. Looking up to her. Despite her pride in them, she held them at arm's length.

No more picnics with her students. She would never know when Zsasz was watching or not. No more hugs or special displays of confidence. Any student she appeared to favor was a student she was potentially putting in danger. _She knew this._

And yet, as she watched Theodore train, and the class wound down towards the end and the time that they would say goodbye… She felt a deep regret that she hadn't succeeded in making the world just a little bit safer. For him, for all of them.

She hugged Theodore one last time. He looked down at her, cheeks reddened and so very proud. He had graduated in a sense; and he was a survivor once again.

He agreed to the plan, surprisingly. Earlier, during class, he had confided in her that this was a good chance for him to escape his situation: unbeknownst to Danielle, her prized student had been getting attacked every single day on his way home from work, for the past several _months._ It was only because of the self-defense classes, he reassured her, that he had been able to avoid his bullies — but they had always been there waiting for him, even if they were unsuccessful. In fact, that time just a few weeks ago, when they'd broken his nose, had happened to be a fluke, an unlucky day — on _his_ part. But the thugs hadn't been acting any differently than any other day.

Moving to a safehouse was freedom for him. _Safety._

It broke Danielle's heart to know how badly her student had been getting treated, and that she hadn't known sooner — that now he had to leave his life behind because of some despicable bullies, only one of which was Zsasz. She felt a deep guilt to know she had failed him so many times.

Pushing away her distress, she smiled up at him for the last time. "Good luck, Theodore… and stay safe."

For once, he didn't stutter. "Thank you for everything, Miss Danielle."

She watched the bus pull away from the hospital curb and waved until the taillights faded.

There was a substitute at the lobby's front desk. Danielle felt another pang of guilt. She went up to the third floor and made her way to Mrs. Phillips' recovery room. When she got there, she saw that Cindy was already there, keeping a silent vigilance over the old woman. She looked up as Danielle entered.

"Any word about capturing him?"

"Not yet," Danielle said grimly. "Any word on Mrs. Phillips' condition?"

"Her blood pressure's still being monitored. Zsasz gave her a nasty scare. And I don't want you blaming yourself for that, even though I know it's too late and you're already doing it. For what it's worth, Mrs. Phillips wouldn't want you to, either."

Danielle bowed her head. Her best friend knew her too well. "Is Dante coming to pick you up?"

"Yes."

"Good. You let me know if anything happens. It _shouldn't_, but let me know."

Cindy gave her a side look. "You did something, didn't you? What did you do?"

"I made a deal with him. He leaves you guys alone, and I won't ignore him anymore. He agreed… providing I never speak to or see Theodore again. I put him on a bus to a safehouse a few minutes ago."

"You did the right thing with Theodore. Safety's Number One, you know that, heck that's _your _motto! Now as for the rest of that…" Any other best friend would have made wild assumptions and gone out of their mind with worry. Not Cindy. "I know you, girl, and I know you wouldn't make a deal with _him _without some sort of plan. So what is it?"

"Simple. I'll get close, get him to lower his guard, then either get him arrested or knock him out and drag him back to Arkham myself!"

"Good plan. Do you need any help?"

"Make sure you take good care of yourself, Mrs. Phillips, and Dante. That's how you can do the most. If I appear to be alone, Zsasz will get cocky. He'll make mistakes - leave an opening for me to exploit."

"You sure? Remember how he isolated you before, Dani. It nearly killed you."

"It won't. Back then, I thought I was alone. But now, I _know_ I'm not." She put a hand on her best friend's shoulder. Cindy embraced her suddenly.

"After everything he's done to ruin your life, I'm amazed you didn't try to kill him."

"I did. _Twice._ It didn't hold either time, and it nearly cost me my sanity both times when I did it. Took me three years to even begin to live a normal life, and I couldn't have done it at all if it hadn't been for you." Danielle smiled gently at her. "I know my limits this time. I don't think I can do it again. I don't even know if it would last if I did do it. But I'm certainly not about to stand by while he hurts people either. Jail is pretty much a win-win situation, know what I mean?"

Cindy nodded. "If he approaches me, do I have 'permission' to take him out?"

"Permission? You don't need it. But I think I know what you're asking, and… I would never judge you, Cindy. I'd just be happy you're alive. And for doing what I couldn't."

Danielle left shortly after and Cindy stared after her, a terrible aching in her heart. Dani was her best friend, and nothing would ever change that. So why did it just feel like they had said goodbye, that they wouldn't be seeing each other for a long time? She shivered.

"I was awake, you know."

She looked in surprise down at Mrs. Phillips. The old woman wasn't wearing her glasses, but her face was as serious as always. "So she has endeavored to take him down all by herself."

"Makes sense," Cindy defended her best friend. "He's obsessed with her. She's got the best shot at stopping him without losing her life. And this is something she needs to do…"

"…For herself," Mrs. Phillips nodded knowingly. "Because for all her efforts to escape him, she is obsessed with him too."

* * *

Wednesday. The seedy Burnley district stank of garbage. The paper wavered between her index and third fingers. _Where was this address anyway?_ She didn't recognize the street name.

And yet her footsteps never wavered.

Her old life was gone. As long as Zsasz was still on the loose, her old life would remain gone. And yet… she meant every word when she told him she would never ignore him. She never could. He was, as they had both said at one time or another, a permanent part of her life.

She rubbed the scar on the back of her neck. A memento from him. "I just hope I can reach him."

Her self-defense instincts were tingling as she turned down Morrison Street. Almost immediately, she crossed to the other side. A drug deal was going down halfway up the block. The puffy jackets could just be for them to keep warm, but knowing _this _neighborhood, there was a good chance they were packing heat. She didn't need to be around that.

She remembered the unsuccessful visit she'd made to the gun store a few years ago. What ever happened to the handsome man she'd met shopping in there? She wondered sometimes.

She gritted her teeth, searching for the alleyway the private investigator's office was on.

This was the perfect place for a private investigator to be working; a place where suspicious behavior blended right in with the norm. If they did it right, the investigator could have Zsasz's location in her hands within a matter of days. She shivered a little imagining what would happen if Zsasz were to _catch_ this private investigator tailing him. After all, didn't the consummate stalker have some sort of anti-stalking contingency when he was on the receiving end?

Good thing she'd gone with someone cheap, according to the phone book anyway. If the PI charged extra for tailing escaped convicts, maybe she'd be able to afford it. Zsasz was more dangerous than the average person. She hoped the PI would be careful. Then again, she supposed that he or she would have to be in order to survive in _Gotham_ of all places. He or she would have to be _good._

Finally she reached the address. There were no ad signs, but there was a large distinctive question mark painted just above the doorway. _Here goes nothing._ She glanced both ways before entering the PI's office...

**_-/-/-/-/-_**


	20. Chapter 19: Inquiry

A/N: Sorry about the shorter chapter. I might be making them shorter from now on - less time on the computer, less painful headache. We'll see, experimenting. :) The chapter title is not a glitch - "The Quest Part 2" will come later on. :)

4S, thank you for the review! Yep, finally they agree on something. :D Stubborn, those two!

Thank you siobreese, HushLittleTaco, TheDevilsDaughter267, crashers, and anyone else I've missed for Following/Favoriting this and/or "Salve, Salvage, &amp; Salvation". :)

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**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Nineteen: INQUIRY-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

"Gooood morning!" the PI sang out as Danielle entered the office. "Welcome to Enigma Investigations! How may I be of service?"

_Someone's had a little too much coffee this morning…_ Sure enough, she saw a coffee pot bubbling behind the enthusiastic investigator, and a half-empty cup.

He was wearing a bowler hat, a greyish-green blazer and slacks. Plum-colored tie. And a very confident smile on his face. Her spirits lifted marginally; at least he seemed to enjoy his job!

"I need you to find someone for me."

"Ah, a common tracking inquiry. Go on."

"I want to know where he lives and any common areas he frequents."

"'He', hmmm? Let me guess… an ex-boyfriend, by chance?"

"No… he's actually been stalking me."

"I see. And you want to stalk him back."

"More or less."

"Do you care about who he's talking to? Want me to tap any phone wires? Monitor any monetary transactions?"

"No, I just want to know where he is. Where he's stalking me _from._"

"May I see a picture?"

Danielle pulled out the newspaper clipping she'd saved. Zsasz's mugshot glared up at her.

The investigator took one look at the photo. "I don't believe it! _This_ is your mystery stalker?!" Then he looked up at her face and quirked an eyebrow. "Your stalker is bonafide criminal Victor Zsasz? And you want me to _find him_ for you?"

"Well-"

"Riddle me this!" he spoke suddenly. "Who is 5'4", roots for the Gotham Knights despite never having attended a game, and until Friday evening was virtually unknown in the criminal underworld?"

"Um… who?"

"Why the Batter, of course! You wouldn't have heard of this person, would you? Rumor has it she — and yes, she is indeed a _she _— lurks in the shadow of the Batman and preys on common mooks. And she has a penchant for beating up Victor Zsasz! You wouldn't happen to know her, would you?"

"OK, you got me," she held up her hands in defeat. "How did you guess?"

"A little bird told me they saw you with Batman, Catwoman, Poison Ivy, and Zsasz, holding a little pow-wow in the Industrial District on Friday."

"Why were you- wait, were you _tailing_ one of us?!"

"Information is my business, Miss Lee. That is your name, isn't it? A pleasure to meet you in person."

"Wait a minute… who are you anyway?" She looked at the walls for some sort of identification. There was a license for his practice… and there was a Certificate of Sanity from Arkham. She read it with a growing sense of horror.

"…Edward Nigma… Oh my god. You're the Riddler!" She backed up a step, almost tripping over a wastebasket. Papers scattered everywhere.

"Of course I am," he replied, vaulting over the front desk to put the papers neatly back in the trash bin. Then he tipped his hat. "I'm the world's greatest investigator!"

_No wonder he's so cheap. No one would want to hire an ex-criminal. And Riddler was responsible for all those death traps over the last, oh, SEVERAL YEARS!_ She shrank away, giving him a polite smile, eyes darting around the office for any booby traps. "Well—"

"So, you're looking for Zsasz!" He said with a bright smile. "Haven't seen where he lives as of late, but I suppose I could track him down… Now, before I accept the commission, I'm curious… Are you planning to kill him for everything he's undoubtedly done to you?" She grimaced; surely he meant the scars cutting across her face. "Or are you trying to get him arrested, or… is your interest more…" he wiggled his eyebrows, "_personal?"_

Danielle's face went red. "If you must know," she gritted, "I'm going to drag him back to Arkham before he hurts anyone else-" She clamped a hand over her mouth. _Was 'Arkham' a sore topic for him, or worse yet, was Zsasz one of his old friends from there? Idiot!_ she chastised herself.

"An admirable ambition," the Riddler replied unfazed, "though I'd be very interested to see if it goes down how you think it will."

"Zsasz wouldn't, by chance, be a personal friend of yours?" she asked delicately.

The Riddler laughed. "His intelligence level is so beneath mine that an actual friendship with him would be considered an embarrassment to me!"

"Hey, don't insult his intelligence! It's... not nice."

"Haha, just kidding. Zsasz is like the disturbed little brother I never had. You, on the other hand, are now acting as though he's _your _friend instead of your arch-enemy! I thought you _wanted _him to go back to Arkham — some friend _you_ are!" He pushed a piece of paper toward her. "Here's how much it will cost you for me to track him down."

She read it. "That's too much! I can't—"

"Ooooor," he sang out, "you could answer my questions with complete honestly, and I could reduce the price by a third."

She sighed. "Alright." _Anything to get this information._

"Right then! Question Number One! What were you all talking about at your little shindig?"

_Aren't you supposed to be the detective?_ she thought, but she answered him straight anyway: "We were talking about some guy named Rā's al Ghūl. Have you heard of him?"

"I'm asking the questions here! Ahem, I knew that… but what _about_ Rā's al Ghūl?"

"He's planning to take over the world."

The Riddler rolled his eyes. "Obviously! Alright, since these questions seem too simple for you-"

"Hey! I'm not paying you to insult me!"

"-_Discounting!_ I'll ask you something about your relationship with Zsasz instead. What did he do to you to make you dress up like a batter? Really, a _Batter?_"

She sighed. "About three years ago…" It felt beyond weird sharing her story with an ex-convict, but the Riddler finally seemed to be listening respectfully. "He chose me as one of his victims. I fought back more than once. He… became obsessed with me."

"So why hasn't he killed you yet?"

"He fell in love with me. We- fell in love. At the time."

"And-?"

"He died falling off the Sprang Bridge. I killed him."

"Ahh, I see. I had heard rumors of his demise… and I'd believed them!" His voice was practically gleeful. "So Rā's resurrected Zsasz, and now Zsasz owes him! Brilliant!"

She decided to let him believe that. For some reason, she felt protective of Zsasz's secret.

"Do you have feelings for him, Batter?"

Danielle's eyes widened. "What?"

"Just kidding! You don't have to answer a question when you obviously don't know the answer to it yourself! Though my money's on 'yes', personally. Anyway… you never answered my question about why you dressed up as a fake member of the Gotham Knights baseball team. Or why you're after Zsasz now."

"Right. So now Zsasz wants to pick up where he left off, but it involves a lot of killing, you see. That's something I won't stand for-"

"Clearly."

"He went after my friends on Friday night – incidentally, that's the one and only time I've dressed up as a batter, and that's because he'd broken my nose earlier—uh, long story, I needed armor, and it was all I had. He had taken my friends! That's why I'm going after him now."

"For good old-fashioned revenge. I get it. OK, Batter. You've sated my curiosity, and now you've got yourself a private investigator! At discount price!" Edward Nigma smiled, and his teeth gleamed.

Danielle shook his proffered hand. "Alright, so I'll pay you half upfront and the other half when the job is done. And you'll have Zsasz's whereabouts in hand for me in—"

"Less than a week. Just fill out this paperwork, leave me a contact number where I can reach you when I finish the job, and write me a sweet check! And we'll get started!"

"Can I ask a question?"

"You can… but will I answer it?"

"How did you go from being in Arkham to being a private investigator?"

"Ah, a worthy question. You see, one of the beauties of Arkham is that there is always a chance for reformation! Well, I did it. I reformed. So I was given my Paper o' Sanity to prove I'd been reformed-" he motioned to the framed certificate on the wall she had seen earlier '-and I endeavored to become a private investigator, thereby putting my natural talents to work! My intellect is unparalleled, you see."

Danielle hid a smile. "Well, I certainly hope so! Zsasz is as slippery as a greased weasel. It'll be hard to find him."

"Zsasz isn't too difficult. You'll see. And my experience as a former member of the Rogues Gallery gives me a certain advantage."

"Yes," she smiled, "you're right, it does."

The Riddler beamed at being told he was right, even if he knew that already.

* * *

Two hours later, Danielle left the phone store, new cell phone in hand. Her fingers itched to dial in Batman's code and see if it worked, but there was no need to make him any grumpier with her. As it was, he'd probably kill her once he found out she went to the _Riddler_ for information. Not that she knew that…initially...

She was halfway up the street when she realized: it was only noon. She'd taken the day off from work… and now she had nothing to do! Nothing except wait for Riddler, that is.

She smiled. What a perfect day to relax... a little at least.

She heard laughter. A group of children were playing at a nearby playground, noses red in the cold, little white puffs trailing behind them. _How on Earth did they have so much energy?_

She sat on a nearby bench and let her thoughts drift. Would the Riddler really find Zsasz for her? Wasn't there some sort of honor code amongst Rogues? If he decided to just run off with the money, there was nothing she could do about it, was there?

She wondered what it was like to be a member of the Rogues Gallery. Were they like a big dysfunctional family? Or did they consider each other to be as much of a hindrance to their goals as Batman? She hated to imagine what would happen if they all got together and decided to _work as a team_ to take down Batman… _I wonder what it would be like to fight beside him, for real._ She shook her head at her foolishness. Zsasz was her responsibility. Nothing more, nothing less.

_BRIIING!_

She looked down in surprise. The number was unfamiliar. Maybe someone from the phone store testing her new phone? "Hello?"

"I was hoping you had received a new phone. It's so much funner to call you when you're out somewhere, surrounded by piggies."

"Zsasz!" her heart leaped.

"And it just so happens I can see you now, Danielle, sitting and watching those brats. Tell me something — have you ever wanted to be a mother, hold a precious little bundle of your own? Is your biological clock ticking?"

"Where are you?" She had to get him away from the children.

"Why don't you guess?"

"A payphone…" she murmured, and her eyes swept the playground area. There! There was a pay phone on the other side. And someone was in the booth!

"Oho! Did you spot me already? Why don't you come say hello?"

She stood up.

"Go slowly. No sudden movements, now. You know what I did at Gotham Square. You saw the aftermath."

She took a slow step toward the pay phone.

"Is your heart rate accelerating as you inch closer and closer to your savior, Danielle? Are you wondering, as well as I am, how many adorable brats I can liberate before you reach me? If I were to burst out of my phone booth right now and start spilling their blood?"

Another step, quivering.

"Or could it be that I am really a super-being in disguise? Rumor has it Superman uses a phone booth to shrug off his human facade. Oho ho ho!" He laughed at his own joke.

Danielle narrowed her eyes to see inside the phone booth. A child darted in front of her and she nearly tripped. Panic filled her veins. Any of these kids was in horrible danger!

"Or could it be that I merely want you to join me in here, share a steamy kiss in a semi-public place?"

Danielle sprinted forward, throwing open the phone booth. An old man blinked at her in surprise.

Her stomach dropped. _Where-?_

"Oh Danielleeee!"

She turned. He was across a street at another pay phone. Nowhere near the kids. She breathed a sigh of relief.

He was, however, very close to a large throng of people. Holiday shoppers, from the looks of it. Innocent, happy people drinking their hot chocolate, chatting, idling about, having _absolutely no clue_ of the danger they were in. She saw Zsasz look around at them, a manic intensity on his face, and she swore his fingers were itching to cut them all.

Then Zsasz turned back to her, giving a creepily innocent smile and blowing a kiss at her. The gesture both flustered her and chilled her blood. She had no weapons whatsoever on her, save for a can of mace. She'd have to remedy that next time, assuming she didn't get him right now — oh, she'd be damned if she didn't try! She saw that his forehead was bandaged under the hoodie he was wearing, as well as his chest from the little that peaked out. She cocked her head. _Why was he looking like a mummy?_

"Always a pleasure," he whispered as he dropped the receiver. Now wearing a full psychotic smirk, he turned and disappeared into the crowd of people.

She ran after him.

_**-/-/-/-/-**_

_A/N: Ah what the hell, decided to try writing Riddler anyway. Seemed like fun, and I got kinda inspired watching "Batman: Assault on Arkham". Anyone else seen it?! :D_


	21. Chapter 20: Quandary

A/N: Thank you kabusakuGirl, Nagiana, Broken Thought of One, TawniBravo, and anyone else I've missed for Following/Favoriting this and/or "Salve, Salvage, &amp; Salvation."

Anyone else watching the new Gotham series? What do you think of it? :)

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**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Twenty: QUANDARY-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

.

.

.

_"Do not attempt to escape."_

_Zsasz nearly scoffed at the obvious words. Chained down, with twelve ninja standing vigilantly over him, he would have to be crazier than he already was to try something so colossally stupid. Surely, if he were patient, there would be a better opportunity…_

_His captor turned his head merely a fraction, and torchlight illuminated his face. Wizened skin, a coarse black beard, supernaturally green eyes… He had the face of a rat, but the poise and grace of a leopard._

_"I brought you back from the dead once; make no mistake, Mr. Zsasz, it would be far too easy to reverse that generous fate if you prove yourself troublesome instead of useful."_

_All thoughts of escape fled Zsasz's head. Astonishment, apprehension, a dozen different emotions hit him so rapidly that he felt queasy. _What does he mean – brought back from the dead?_ Before he could stop himself, the question bolted from his mouth._

_"Where am I? How did you bring me back? How could I have been dead?" He wondered, if – IF – he were really dead, had he finally tasted his long-sought oblivion? A sharp pain in the head cut off his thoughts._

_"Infidel!" One of the guards had struck him with the flat of her blade. "Do not speak to the Master unless you are given permission!"_

_Zsasz glared up at her and she stared back fiercely. He could read it in her eyes; she had killed before, and she would not hesitate to kill him now._

_"You are in one of my many hideouts, and you are in the company of my League of Shadows," the mysterious man replied. "If all goes as I wish, you would be tried and inducted into my League and take part in our noble mission." He paused; questions and retorts bubbled in Zsasz's mind, but he did not interrupt again. The man smirked at his silence._

_"I am he who is called Rā's al Ghūl, the Demon's Head. I hold power over life and death, among other things. Your body was cold and gone when I pulled it from the Gotham Bay, but I brought you back to life with alchemy." A jolt, colder than ice, went through Zsasz's bones. So when he fell off the Sprang Bridge-? "I think you might be of some use to me, if you are willing."_

_Rā's gave a nod to his guards. The chains holding Zsasz down loosened, and he was pulled roughly to his feet. He stumbled, for his hands were still tied. Standing, he now saw that he had been lying very near to a large pit, filled with bubbling, hissing green liquid. The goop smelled of sulfur and other minerals. Something about the pit made Zsasz's skin prickle; he wanted to know what it was, but dared not ask._

_The guards escorted him from the room, through a narrow hallway and up stone stairs. Zsasz guessed they were below ground; the air was cold and slightly damp._

_"I know of you, Victor Zsasz," Rā's continued as they walked. "You are a member of Batman's infamous Rogues Gallery, are you not?"_

_Zsasz hesitated; he felt the point of a sword subtly digging into his shoulder and answered._

_"Yes. The Bat and I are enemies." He gritted his teeth compulsively. "I will have his mark someday!"_

_"And that is your ambition?" Rā's sounded amused. "You have long held a crusade of your own, at odd's with Batman's. What is your crusade?"_

_In spite of his predicament, Zsasz answered with the same manic intensity he always felt when he thought about his sacred mission. "I will free as many people as possible from this mortal coil. Their endless loops of misery will be memorialized as I mark their meaningless lives upon my flesh! The Batman will be marked too, once I've gotten him…" He felt a pang suddenly as he remembered: he had last seen Batman, along with Catwoman, trying to save Danielle. In fact, it was the last thing he remembered up until now… Though it felt like an eternity ago… He shook his head to clear the fuzziness. How long was he dead? How long ago had it happened?_

_The pang worsened as he wondered if his Alive Girl was still safe._

_"Tell me more about these people you slaughter."_

_"Ahh, the zombies," he seized on the distraction. "I have a mark for each person I have ever killed." He motioned to his skin; surely it must be the light, but did his precious marks look fainter somehow? Impossible. "I believe that deep down, deep beneath a layer of denial and desperation, they do not value their meaningless lives. They all want to die – they _need_ to!"_

_There was a long silence. Zsasz turned to look at Rā's. The old man was wearing a look of grim satisfaction on his face; his eyes were alight with malice and cunning. Zsasz felt a thrill of excitement along with dread. What was going on?_

_"How would you feel to see humanity broken and bleeding at your feet? Severely culled, several thousands cut down, by your own hand?"_

_At this, a look of radiant joy transformed Zsasz's face. Before he could answer, Rā's went on – though his voice was suddenly grave and almost sorrowful._

_"Too long has humanity squandered the Earth's beauty. Rainforests, burned down at man's quest for resources, for gold, for cattle land. Thousands of species lost a year, millions of acres of forest burned down each day. Look at our oceans – the fish over-harvested, trash choking the remaining species, enough trash to cover the continental United States! And our skies… The hole in the ozone layer grows, affecting the development of every organism on the planet! Humanity is responsible for these crimes, and no one is more responsible than the rich… The same class you and your family once belonged to. As a self-proclaimed 'savior', you have made steps toward correcting the imbalance, but now, more than ever, more is needed."_

_The door ahead of them opened, leading to a cavernous room, and moans greeted them. Up and down the walls hung cages, and in each one a prisoner. Zsasz saw old men missing teeth, younger men with welts and bruises, even a few women, looking haggard. The din was unnerving. Ordinarily Zsasz would be pleased to see so many zombies, just waiting for his knife – but right now, he had the distinctive impression that if he displeased Rā's even a little, he would wind up in one of these cages. Or worse._

_"I seek to liberate our fair green Earth from the monstrosity of humanity," Rā's continued as they swept to the other side of the room. The door slammed behind them, stifling the noise. They found themselves in a smaller room with stone walls and no furniture, dimly lit. Rā's turned to Zsasz. "Will you join my cause?"_

_"Oh yes!" Zsasz cried enthusiastically. "My blade would bathe in their blood! It would be a glorious day to look upon such liberation!"_

_"Then you may be worthy yet…" Rā's whispered as he backed toward one of the walls, throwing off his cape and unsheathing his sword. The guards made a sudden move to the outside of the room, leaving Zsasz exposed in the middle. A cold sweat broke out over his body, and he shivered, though he tried desperately not to show it._

_"Untie him." A guard stepped forward, cutting his bonds. Zsasz was tempted to grab her, try to take her hostage, but he didn't dare. He knew it wouldn't work, so he stayed still, heart pounding._

_"It is time you demonstrated to us your skills, Mr. Zsasz. You will face me in combat now. Do not hold back. Show me what you know, and we will know better where to begin your training…"_

_But Zsasz instinctively knew differently._

_This would not be a fight to test his skills. Instead, this would be a fight of dominance: if Zsasz won, then he would be his own man, possibly even earn his freedom. Well, that last theory was unlikely, but at minimum, Rā's might consider him his equal._

_If he lost, he would call Rā's "Master" forever._

_Zsasz gritted his teeth very hard. Rā's saw his opponent's determination, and his eyes gleamed with anticipation._

_A sword clattered at Zsasz's feet. He raised his eyebrows._

_"You will face me with a civilized weapon, Mr. Zsasz. A knife is the weapon of a petty thief. Pick up your blade, and the fight will begin."_

_Zsasz stooped cautiously to pick up the scimitar. The handle and blade were beautifully carved, and heavy – he could barely lift it._

_There was no yell, no warning. With the whispering sound of a dragon taking flight, Rā's attacked._

.

.

.

Sweat raced down Zsasz's gaunt face. He rubbed a hand over his bald head absently, fingers twitching. _There was no reason for this,_ he tried to tell himself.

He had made it back to his hideout. Away from Danielle. It wasn't hard to escape her – she was strong and determined, yes, but she would never catch him _unless he let her_.

But now, as he lay collapsed on the ruined floor with the stench of mold in his nostrils, he could only hear the words he had spoken earlier to her, repeating endlessly in his head:

_"Are you wondering, as well as I am, how many adorable brats I can liberate before you reach me? If I were to burst out of my phone booth right now and start spilling their blood?"_

Zsasz shivered, but not with joy. He had said those words to get a rise out of Danielle, of course – and she had performed admirably, chasing after him – but his words were haunting him now. It made no sense. He wasn't one to make idle threats, and usually the idea of such a bloodbath would be positively euphoric for him. Once he had the thought, it would become impossible for the temptation to subside. He would become fevered, fervent to cut again…

So why instead was it that the thought of slaughtering those children made him feel… _sickened? _Why was it that the thought of those little mangled bodies now had him shaking like a leaf?

It must be another mindgame. Rā's must be in his head again somehow, he frantically tried to convince himself. But he could not hear the Voice.

He had been so eager to follow Rā's, he remembered disgustedly. Once he'd heard he would be able to slaughter endlessly, it had seemed that their missions could exist together. For a captive – for that was what he had been – Zsasz had been relatively content. He'd lost the initial sword fight, of course. He'd been made to submit to Rā's, call him Master. And in return, he'd been trained. Trained as an even colder, more efficient weapon.

That wasn't all. His senses were heightened too. And he could hear the subtle gasp of air echoing from the murky waters below.

"Is that you, Killer Croc?" he called out into the darkness. "You cannot sneak up on me!"

He heard the soft hiss as the reptilian man broke the surface of the sewer waters.

"I've got your scent, Zsasz! I will suck the meat from your bones!" he heard the guttural voice and cringed. Of all people to have for a neighbor, did it have to be one of his enemies? Not that he had friends exactly, but Killer Croc in particular had a grudge for him.

"You know," he called back conversationally, "I cannot remember what happened between us that you should hate me so much. Could you enlighten me?"

There was a growl. "Stumpy. Or don't you remember any of your victims, Zsasz? No? Figures you wouldn't…"

"Stumpy, you say?"

"When Gotham was quarantined and made a no man's land. Stumpy was a friend of mine. My only friend. And you killed him! Remember now?"

Zsasz scoffed in disbelief. "Do you mean to tell me, Waylon, that after all the people you yourself have killed and eaten, you take issue with me killing _one?_"

"Not that one! Not my friend! You weren't supposed to kill him!" he roared, and the Butcher's arm hairs stood on end. "You're all alone down here with me now, Zsasz. No guards, no therapists. What's to stop me from eating you now?"

"You have no way up," Zsasz called back loftily, even as his stomach turned to jelly. "If you tried to climb up here, the wooden floors wouldn't support you. You'd fall back down."

"Maybe you'd fall in with me."

"Goodnight, Waylon," Zsasz said nonchalantly. "Let me know if you ever do find a way up here."

He heard a soft, ominous growl. "Mark my words, Zsasz…" And with that, there was a splash and silence.

_"Mark my words…"_ Zsasz mused softly to himself. If only he had gotten away from Rā's sooner. He might still have his original marks. He might not be down in a stinking pit, slowly losing his mind.

He needed to find Rā's and make him pay. "If I do that, then everything can go back to normal again… can't it?"

Only the dripping of water answered him.

* * *

The glare of the computer screen bounced off Edward's glasses. It was past midnight. His hair stood high on his head. A half-drunk cup of coffee – his fourth – was long since cold. But his fingers clicked away as steadily as ever.

"Hmm, Sherman's been beefing up his security… I never figured he'd start keeping electronic records after so many years with paper, but hey, the better for me!" Riddler mused quietly to himself, "Maybe someone tried to not pay him and insisted there was no binding contract… Now for this last firewall…" _Click!_ "Yes!" The Broker's records uploaded onto his computer.

"Let's see… Huh, so that's where Jonathan was staying, before his untimely arrest… Ooh, Jervis is back in Park Row… Note to self: do not accept the tea. Hmm…"

There was no sign of Zsasz in the database.

Riddler scratched the stubble on his chin. Odd. If Zsasz wasn't using the Broker this time, then where else would he hole up?

"Alrighty then… I could use a phone tap if the client would bring in her phone, trace the location… No… If Batman ever found out his little lap kitty had to give me a _clue_ to solve this _embarrassingly easy_ riddle, I'd never hear the end of it!"

It gave the Riddler a certain satisfaction to know that Batman, with all his fancy gadgets and passable intelligence, wasn't able to find Zsasz. But the Riddler would. Oh yes. Where the Dark Knight had failed, Edward Nigma would succeed and prove that he, once again, was smarter than a Bat.

"I could ask around my spies if there have been any sightings… Those retarded monkeys have been shockingly useful lately."

Indeed, it was one of his spies who had been listening in that night in the Industrial District when Batman, Catwoman, Poison Ivy, the Batter, and Zsasz had their so-called "meeting of the minds". This spy in particular was an infiltrator in Penguin's gang, and he had been smart enough to _not_ get knocked out when the Batter attacked his trio of mooks that night (or rather, when she had fended them off, but there was no way he or the others would ever tell their bosses that they were beaten by a girl, except to claim she had unexpectedly jumped them). The Riddler's informant had given him a very rich story, though he hadn't heard everything. He'd heard enough to know that Rā's al Ghūl was planning to resurrect the Joker, and there were certain people who would pay good money for that kind of information.

People like the Penguin, for instance.

Riddler's informant had been the only one conscious to overhear the meeting. Consequently, the Riddler had the information and the Penguin didn't. But he would soon. He had already wired the Riddler an advanced pay, after Riddler had dangled the hook in front of his beaky face. It had pained Pengers to know that the Riddler had a piece of prime juicy knowledge that he didn't. The Penguin just had to have it. He had to have everything. And Riddler, well… He wasn't foolish enough to refuse the amount of money Penguin offered him. Unfortunately, his business was running very slow – seemed no one wanted to do business with an ex-member of the Rogues Gallery. Except for the Rogues Gallery members themselves.

He sighed. "If only the girl had given me more information… I could have sold Oswald an even bigger package and gotten even more money! Ah well… In the meantime, he might like to know about Zsasz's whereabouts as well, after I've sold the information to the girl first..."

As he thought aloud, his fingers kept working. It wasn't particularly hard to hack into the camera feeds surrounding the city, considering he did it every other night. Those cretins at the GCPD had no idea how easy their security was to crack. Well, he supposed being the former head of their cybercrimes division _would_ give him an extra edge. And why shouldn't he use the extra intelligence their surveillance provided him? If they couldn't even build a decent enough firewall to keep him out, that was their problem.

In less than a minute, the feeds had uploaded. Riddler selected camera 121, which overlooked the Sprang Bridge, and rewound the footage by a week, back to a moment that had intrigued him when he first saw it. There, in grainy quality, stood his client – the illusive Batter, Danielle Lee – and none other than Victor Zsasz, high on the railing above the water – _making out!_

"Tsk, tsk… Looks like you're a bit of a liar, Miss Lee, claiming your love was a thing of the past… When I can see clearly as day that it is still alive!"

It was unbelievable, pathetic, and poetic all at once: Zsasz falling for a "zombie."

Who was the Riddler kidding? He found the irony _priceless._

Well, actually, there _was_ a price for that kind of information. If Penguin should ever decide to seek out his old enemy, it might help to know Zsasz had a weakness. A certain weakness with a penchant for baseball bats. Too bad, she seemed like a nice girl… A little on the dumb side, but compared to him, who wasn't?

He made a quick copy of the appropriate selection of footage – a few more hours and it would have been wiped from the system. "Now to check the rest of the surveillance… Maybe I can follow the footage of Zsasz from this point and try to pinpoint where he went… This is gonna take a while… And there are any number of blind spots he could have disappeared into… If this doesn't work, I can check the police records for recent bodies matching his M.O., then try triangulation and deduction…" He thought again of being Batman's intellectual superior, and with determination he clenched his fists. "It'll take a few days, but it might work. Even Zsasz can't be totally random all the time—"

Wait a minute, why was the window open?

* * *

The Riddler's eyes darted around, peering into the dark. "Who's there?" He nearly cursed when his voice shook.

The room was silent. But Riddler _knew_ he wasn't alone.

"I'm not an idiot, or haven't you heard. Show yourself."

The darkness mocked him. Riddler began to inch towards a lightswitch—

_A hand, out of nowhere!_

"Ulp!" the Riddler let out an undignified yelp as he was pressed up against a wall. But by now he knew who it was and his expression relaxed. "Haven't you heard, you flying rodent? I'm legit now! That means, no more punching me!" Inwardly he gloated, wondering how Batman would deal with his little anger problem now.

"I know," came the raspy voice he knew too well. "Though, I thought being legit meant no business with the likes of Cobblepot."

"And what could possibly make you think I'd have connections with riffraff like him?" the Riddler asked smugly.

"He left an electronic bread crumb trail right into your account."

Riddler's eyes widened in indignation. "Have you been spying on me? Hacking into my private accounts? I'll have you know there are privacy laws against that, not to mention the information was perfectly legal—"

"One of your old associates was in the Industrial District on Friday night, disguised as a Penguin goon. Something big went down, and now suddenly the Penguin wires a large amount of money to you… I don't believe in coincidences, Nigma! Tell me what you know!"

"You can't make me, this information is in the exclusive domain of the Penguin—"

"Tell me, or I'll inform your parole board that you've been obtaining your information illegally by hacking into government files—"

"Like you don't do the same! You cheat to gain your information, to whom do we report you?"

"Spying on criminals is far different than gaining profit from classified files. Now _talk_."

"Not until you admit that your methods are less than honest also!"

Batman sighed. _Flump!_ A large stack of money fell down on the Riddler's desk, and he stared greedily. "Anything else to say, Nigma, or should we call it a night?"

_Well,_ the Riddler thought to himself, _money might not be as valuable as information, but it's still valuable!_

An hour and a half later, the Riddler sighed with contentment before scooping the even larger bundle of money into his biggest bankbag. Batman watched him silently. "So you'll do it?"

"Oh, I'll do it," Edward reassured him. "The Penguin won't know that you already know, and I might even be able to slip out a tissue sample unnoticed. I get you more information, you make sure I stay hidden, correct?"

Batman blinked. "That was easier than I thought."

"Well, I'd have to be a fool to turn down _this_ much money, and as you know, I am the exact opposite… Hey, whose skulls did you have to crack to be able to afford this?"

Batman stared at him blankly.

"Anyway," the Riddler said hastily, "I'm just proud you came to me for help. It seems you've finally accepted my intelligence."

"Sure," Batman deadpanned.

"Oh, one last little thing before I go…" Edward adjusted his glasses. "My clients. Well, _client,_ actually, I only have one at the moment. If I'm not going to be in the office, then obviously I can't continue her case." He held up the Batter's file. "What am I going to do about her?"

Batman glanced down at the name. His eyes narrowed. "I'll handle her."

Even the Riddler knew better than to ask questions sometimes.

* * *

"_'Out of business'_… WHAT?!"

Danielle stood fuming in front of the private investigator's office. How like the Riddler to take her money and disappear. Why did she trust him?! How stupid was she?!

"Well, this is quite the quandary," she said softly. "Now how will I find that homicidal maniac?"

Bitterly, she turned away. Back to square one with Zsasz, and a lot poorer now… _THUMP!_

A package landed in front of her suddenly, as if it had fallen out the sky. Quickly she looked around, but she didn't see anyone. Curious, she bent down. The package had _her_ name on it.

"Oh no, this isn't ominous at all…" she muttered to herself even as she opened the flap. "I'll bet there's a bomb inside…"

She was in for a pleasant surprise. It was the exact amount of money she had given Riddler, in cash. And there was a note attached: 'Got you a refund. Let's leave it at this. Drop it. –B.' A scribble of a bat was at the bottom of the page.

"Of course." She shook her head, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. That meddlesome Batman. Oh, she knew he had a point. She herself thought she was in over her head. But if she failed to protect her friends—

_BRIING!_

She nearly jumped out of her skin. Across the street, a payphone was ringing. _How-?_

A trio of drug dealers from across the street had turned at the sound of the ringing. One shuffled up and picked up the receiver as she held her breath. He said something to the affirmative and then launched into a conversation with the person on the other end. She relaxed. A drug deal, it sounded like – whoever it was must have called at a prearranged time, knowing that the right person would pick up. She could hear the thug talking about prices—

Wait a minute.

The payphones.

She waited anxiously until the conversation was done and the trio had moved away from the phone. Then she darted across the street and inside the payphone.

There! Above the receiver and keypad was a number. 555-4075.

She dialed the number into her cell phone. The payphone in front of her rang a moment later. She grinned.

Stepping out of the booth, she copied down the number, then copied down the streets she was standing on.

Zsasz had called her before from a payphone – in fact, it had been the very first call to her new cell phone. A number had shown up, clear as day. An _actual_ phone number.

If she could map _where_ all the payphones in the city were, as well as their corresponding phone numbers, then the next time he called from one…

She grinned, a plan finally springing to mind. _I'm coming for you, Zsasz._

**_-/-/-/-/-_**


	22. Chapter 21: The Quest, Part 2

_Author's Note:_ Hi everyone! Sorry to be away for so long, I haven't been dealing well with depression. :/ Very happy to be back, and thank you so much for the thoughtful reviews. :)

**4S:** YES! Penguin in _Gotham_ is so awesome, I love his devious chessmaster antics! XD I love everything about this series, even with some of the changes they've made to canon… Aaaand I CAN'T stop drooling every single time Cory Michael Smith as Riddler comes on screen… Gahhh, sooo adorkable! *happy sigh*

**TawniBravo: **Thank you! :D I'm glad I could give you a good surprise, though I'm sorry I took so long to update this time. :/

**Night Monkey:** Thank you, what a wonderful review! :) God, so true, Ra's using the Rogues of all people in his quest - especially Zsasz - is ten shades of messed up! I loved how sinister he and Zsasz were in the video game - kinda scary to think how much damage Ra's could do if he could access the entire Rogues Gallery. All those words you use to describe Zsasz make me so happy! If you ever see me making Zsasz too out-of-character, please please please call me on it! It's something I've been consciously trying to avoid.

Thank you to Lex Mayhem, anparker09, Night Monkey, Maaiikee, and anyone I've missed for Following/Favoriting! :)

-0-

**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Twenty-One: THE QUEST, Part 2-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

_"Gah!"_

Zsasz awoke in a cold sweat. Panting, he looked around at his surroundings, immediately recognizing the dingy walls of his hideout. He wiped an arm across his clammy forehead and sighed deeply.

He couldn't remember exactly what he had been dreaming about – but the pounding of his heart was _very_ familiar. He shoved the thoughts away vehemently and tried to stand up, stumbling in the dark.

Waylon had returned, of course. He had come back again and again for hours, taunting Zsasz in the dark, threatening him with his guttural slimy voice. _Enemies, enemies everywhere._ Perhaps he should blame Waylon for the nightmares. But he didn't want to give the reptile any power over him. No one had power over Victor Zsasz.

_That's right._ He gritted his teeth. No one had power over him! And he was going to prove it, right now…

Slowly, Zsasz inched towards the edge of his hideout. A platform, a sheer drop into the sewers, awaited him. He crouched down and, using all the dexterity he possessed, he began to shimmy.

_Is it worth it?_ he wondered as he moved, inch by inch over the murky waters below. _I could fall in easily, become food for Killer Croc …all this risk for the shred of a chance at revenge… assuming the place I am looking for still even exists. Is this really worth it?_

Anger and determination surged in him at the thought of revenge. That was all the answer he needed.

It took forever to reach the other side. He dropped down and silently let out his breath as he felt solid ground beneath him. He hoped he was going the right way; he could only guess. Up ahead was a hole in the rotten floorboards, dimly lit by a green light. A neon question mark beamed down from the ceiling. He scoffed. No doubt left from some game the Riddler had played with Batman ages ago… Zsasz personally thought his games were much better than the Riddler's.

He jumped into the hole and found himself in a small room, well furnished, with books everywhere. Almost there. In front of him stood a large, ornate brass door. The design was far too familiar. Suddenly his hands were clammy again.

_Here I go…_

The door swung open.

He found himself in a cavernous room, metal supports everywhere, and a giant platform in the center with an elevator in it, one that had once ascended over all of Gotham...

It was here. It was really here. Buried under Gotham and forgotten – _the foundations of Wonder Tower! _Not destroyed after all, as everyone had assumed when they tore down the tower after the Arkham City days. Sheldon Park stood in its place now… but it seemed they had left the underground base intact!

Zsasz's heart leaped in his chest, and he took a deep, steadying breath to contain himself. If this was still here… Then just maybe, the entrance to Wonder City was here too!

He had heard about Wonder City during his time with Rā's al Ghūl. The old man liked to reminisce, it seemed, and he had taken it upon himself to give Zsasz a history lesson about Zsasz's beloved hometown, particularly his part in creating it. With a chill, the serial killer realized that his hideout must be located in the old streets, either of Wonder City or of Gotham City of that time. Now that he thought about it, the surroundings were rather antiquated; the barber's pole near his hideout looked like it would not be out of place in the 1800's.

There were shops around the base of the tower, he realized. Behind him was an old jeweler's shop. Walking down the sweeping staircase, he saw a furniture store, a hat store, Crazy Clown Toys &amp; Dolls (was that a miniature of the Ghost Train inside?), Royal Flush Tobacco...

In the center of the room there was a giant globe.

Zsasz couldn't believe his good luck. Surely, surely the globe must hold some clue to Rā's whereabouts! Zsasz hoped against hope that just maybe, the old man had marked his hideouts on the giant globe, or perhaps his Lazarus Pits, and maybe Zsasz could visit them all until he tracked Rā's down… And then, he thought with a grim smile, he would make Rā's pay.

Eagerly he strode over to the globe beneath the elevator and squinted up in the dim light.

There! Those lines… Were they a map, trails marked that might lead him to Rā's hideouts? He squinted harder. There were so many lines! But they looked oddly familiar… _Wait a minute._

To Zsasz's supreme chagrin, he realized that the lines on the map were merely _country_ lines. There were no other marks, no signs of where Rā's might be. His heart sank.

He turned to go-

_"Hnnh!"_

Zsasz let out a choked gasp and stumbled backward.

Two people were standing in the shadows looking at him, their _red eyes_ glowing in the dim room.

Zsasz's heart pounded. A knife was already in his hand. And yet the other intruders did not approach him.

It took Zsasz a long moment to process that they weren't human, nor were they alive.

Two sentry robots in glass display cases stared out at him unnervingly. Slowly, Zsasz pieced together that they must be the mechanical guardians Rā's had told him about. How was it that they could still be functional? This place had obviously been abandoned. There was dust on the glass! And yet, their eyes still glowed.

Zsasz had the creepiest feeling that they were watching him.

He inched closer. They didn't seem to be moving. Suddenly it occurred to him that they could be recording him. That Rā's al Ghūl could be watching through them and _laughing_ at him. At that thought, he stood up straighter and sneered, stalking past the idiotic robots and ignoring the prickling feeling as he did so. He would _not_ give his former master the satisfaction of seeing his fear!

Beyond the mechanical guardians, tatters of yellow tape hung, fluttering in a non-existent breeze. There was a small door: above it, a sign proclaimed: "Wonder City."

Zsasz threw open the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Almost immediately, a gust of cold hit him. Ahead, the passageway sloped downward, long and dank. Water dripped from the ceiling. The stones beneath his boots appeared almost green; Zsasz saw a tube full of shimmering Lazarus running along the right side of the corridor. _Lazarus__…_ He shivered.

_"This world is doomed."_ He jumped at the sound of the creepy voice. _"Cities like Gotham will grow up to resemble hell breaking through the sidewalk, continuing up into the sky. Structures will grow to blot out the sun, and the people who live in them will be choked by the pollution they create..."_

_Just a recording._ He could see the loudspeakers on the ceiling… but why did it feel as though the voice were coming through the walls? A disturbing thought came to him: it sounded like the Voice he used to hear in his head. He could hear its taunting now.

_"Eventually, when no space remains, this world will die, struggling for breath as man's mistakes nail the coffin shut. But this doesn't have to be your future, Gotham."_

Why did it feel as though he were walking into a death chamber? Long and narrow, like a birth canal, yet so sinister. Zsasz could feel the evil in the air, almost stiflingly. Without noticing, his arms and legs had begun to quiver. _This is just like that cave he kept me in… That one I escaped from. I remember the cobblestones..._

He jumped when the voice began speaking again.

_"There is a better way. Behind this wall is mankind's chance for survival. A glimpse at a future based on an amazing discovery. A discovery that will allow Gotham to rise like Lazarus, becoming a beacon of hope for this world."_

Zsasz started and landed hard on his knees. Skeletons hung from the ceiling! Zsasz's heart shuddered wildly. At least a dozen of them- _Why hadn't someone gotten them to a Lazarus Pit?_ He felt dizzy; his thoughts were confused. On the mossy stones in front of him, he could swear he saw bloodstains. _Why? Why was there always death around him?!_ He bolted to his feet, stumbling through the sea of corpses and onward.

_"Are you intrigued? Then step closer. Witness the future of Gotham City."_

No. No, he didn't want to step closer. He wanted to turn around, run away, and never come back. But then Rā's would win! Gritting his teeth, Zsasz pushed himself forward.

_"The heart of Gotham's future beats with Lazarus technology. The power of Lazarus is pumped into every street, every home, providing clean, safe energy."_

The air smelled like Lazarus. He would recognize that distinctive stench of minerals anywhere. There must be an active Pit nearby. He felt woozy, nauseous. Was there Lazarus in the air itself? Or were old memories swiftly closing in?

_"Mechanical Guardians will serve you, watch over you and where necessary, protect you from the worst of mankind's sins. But most importantly, our beautiful world will survive."_

Rā's was a liar. He didn't want to make the world survive. He wanted to destroy it, and everyone in it!

_"Ladies and Gentlemen, allow us to present to you the future… Wonder City!"_

And suddenly he was there. The corridor opened abruptly into a square with quaint shops and sundries. He could hear the humming of ageless machinery, as if the long-dead Wonder City still held a pulse. _What if Rā's came back?!_ Irrational thoughts swept through his mind. _He could be here right now, stalking me, waiting for me to slip up. He'll kill me and resurrect me until he breaks me again!_

Between the Teahut and the Muftic Barbershop, Zsasz collapsed, shuddering. The sett street bit into his knees… And now his memories were slipping back… For a moment he swore it was _cobblestone_ underneath his fingers...

_._

**_Two-and-a-half years earlier..._**

_._

_._

_"Today will be your final test before you are inducted, Victor Zsasz. Do not fail me." _

Those words were music to Zsasz's ears. After seven grueling months of training, he was finally ready. He would serve his Master – it still rankled him slightly to call Rā's "Master", but he grudgingly admitted that Rā's had earned the title. Rā's had honed him into a fine tool – into an even better killer than before.

"I have an important mission, and then your test will begin when I return. The land we are going to is rural, removed from society… As far away from Gotham City as you could possibly imagine. And yet Gotham and the whole of humanity will eventually feel the effects of what we create here. The world is more delicate and interconnected than they can possibly imagine…" The old man lost himself in his musings, but at Zsasz's curious look, he caught himself.

"Though this region is desert, do not be fooled. It has a potency that would rival the Fertile Crescent! This place will be the perfect base of our operations. Here we will create the seedstock and genesis of our new world: terminator species. More specifically, human-terminating species..."

Zsasz zoned out slightly as Rā's spoke. What would his test be, he wondered. He hoped he wouldn't have to face Rā's in combat again. His humiliating defeat at Rā's hands all those months ago still stung.

"…Are you listening, Victor?"

Zsasz straightened. "Yes, Master. You were saying that the species will contain special allergens and toxins that will cause massive organ failure in their human consumers." He winced internally; if Rā's was displeased with his answer, he would not be gentle in his rebuke.

Rā's smirked. "You listen well, even when you do not lend me your full attention." Zsasz ducked his head gratefully at the light snub. "The region is currently at the mercy of criminals. Bandits who seized power. They have guns, gold, and all the deeds to the land. The people under them are simple farmers." He motioned to his ninja, who began to file out of the room to Rā's private jet. "If we can offer the bandits a favorable deal, we might be able to assume some power in the land. If not, we will find other means to negotiate." Rā's was silent, and Zsasz took the opportunity to speak.

"And what shall my task be, Master?"

"So impatient, Victor! Still one of your weaknesses."

"Forgive me, Master."

"Not to worry. You have come so far in such little time. Patience is a virtue you will learn even still." He pondered for a moment, stroking the handle of his scimitar thoughtfully. "Very well… let us take _advantage_ of your enthusiasm."

"Yes, Master?"

"This is your initiation, Victor Zsasz. Join me along on my mission, and you will be tested. All you need do is pass the test, and you will be inducted into the League of Shadows."

Zsasz felt his heartbeat elevate slightly, though he kept a calm face. "And what is my test, Master?"

"A test is exactly what it says. To be inducted into the League, you will need to carry yourself within my orders at all times, yet using your very best judgment. I will not tell you the details, but when the test has begun, you will know. Keep your wits about you."

Zsasz reluctantly bowed his head. "Yes, Master."

* * *

Soon enough, the jet landed, and the members of the League set out for the site in caravan jeeps. Zsasz looked out the window as they drove. Rā's was right; it did look like a worthless desert. But as he stared longer, he was amazed at the variety of flowers he saw growing, many hidden or inconspicuously spreading out over the sandy soils.

They drove into a moderate valley, and here Zsasz saw modest crops growing, and in the distance, a village. They drove through it, kicking up dust and sending the villagers moving to the side of the road, gazing curiously at them. Zsasz pitied these people already.

Finally they reached the stronghold of the village leaders – "the bandits", Rā's had called them. A League member knocked at the door and stepped back, holding up her sword as a sign of honor for her Master. The door opened, and a filthy man peered out at them, squinting in the sunlight. He made a noise deep in his throat, as if dislodging a loogie, and stared expectantly at them.

"Good morning," Rā's greeted him. "I trust your man gave you our message."

"We received you, didn't we?" The bandit glared at him. "Could have shot you on our doorstep—"

"But that would, of course, be a poor business move."

"Business, you said," the bandit stood up a little straighter. "What kind of business?"

"We might discuss this more comfortably in your office. It is the kind of business that would be rather… lucrative."

Rā's held up a gold coin. The man's eyes took on a different sheen. Zsasz could see his fingers twitching with greed; it disgusted him. Feigning indifference, the bandit took the coin in his hand and pocketed it, and then he jerked his head for the Great Rā's al Ghūl to follow.

Moments later, they were in a room with several bandits, the de facto leaders of the village.

Zsasz watched as Rā's spoke to the bandits, proposing a working partnership to manage certain resources in the region. He listened as the bandits' greed stymied the negotiations and wondered if this were a part of his test. Was he to memorize every work spoken in this room? Would he be called upon at some point to use negotiation skills to deal with these ridiculously stubborn scoundrels? He waited, slightly apprehensively.

Finally, it seemed they were at an impasse. The thieves wanted too much money, and even worse, they wanted to limit his Master's access to the region. One bellowed that the old man must be crazy to demand so much of them, to work them like common mules! Rā's gave a sigh and stood up, smiling politely.

"How very unfortunate that we could not come to a deal of some sort," he said formally. "But, we'll not waste any more of your morning." He turned to Zsasz. "My man Mr. Zsasz will conclude business negotiations with you. He will see that you are fairly compensated for your time."

Rā's nodded to his guard and they exited, leaving Zsasz alone with the bandits. Zsasz smirked. So _this _was his test. Oh yes. He would surely pass with flying colors.

He turned to survey the bandits fully, who were waiting with greed in their eyes for their "compensation." Poor fools. At first glance, someone might think Zsasz had much in common with them. The bandits were unkempt, skinny, ragged, clearly living a rough life… very much like Zsasz had been. But the bandits were also shiftless, avaricious, and unlike them, Zsasz had a purpose: to liberate the world. For the world itself – and for his Master.

Almost lazily, Zsasz reached for his scimitar. The bandits blanched. Before they could draw their daggers, Zsasz attacked.

* * *

"As I was saying earlier, this area would be the perfect place to develop our new crop species," Rā's was talking again. Zsasz trailed behind him silently, internally glowing.

He had passed, of course. Rā's hadn't said anything when he exited the room, the blood of a dozen bandits splattering the walls of their own establishment, the leadership officially toppled and the region now opened to the League's influence. Rā's hadn't needed to say anything to Zsasz. His silence was approval enough.

"Our people will begin working to siphon the water, using the new desalinization treatment we've engineered, and laying down the pipeline to provide water to this region. Our scientists will work to create the species and we will test until we have perfected it…"

Now that he had passed, he might gain a small measure of freedom. Oh, nothing like total freewill, of course, he was made to serve Rā's. But now perhaps he could get out of the base more often, go on missions, do the liberating he was meant to do – he made a mental note that he needed to mark himself later with the bandits – and maybe someday, Rā's would let him return to Gotham as his agent. He hoped so. He still had business with Gotham. A certain piece of business that was never far from his heart… He missed her.

"...We will only target the domesticated species, however! We will not risk harm to the natural, non-manipulated species. And we will reserve a small crop of the best heirloom seeds for the surviving population, and the Eden we create."

"Very good, Master."

"…And now," Rā's said serenely, "We shall leave the governing of this region in the hands of the commoners. With guidance, they might be our first allies to turn against the modernized world. To uproot Batman's homeland."

"Will we kill them next, Master?" Zsasz's voice was tight and eager with bloodlust.

Rā's reprimanded him with a sharp look. "No, Victor. We will work with this region to see if they can handle the delicate earth better than their predecessors. They might still be useful yet, as long as they do not betray us…"

As Rā's rambled on, Zsasz looked longingly towards the village, expecting to see dejected people, shuffling on their endless loops of misery...

A child was playing in the street. Dirt streaked his face, but he was grinning from ear to ear. Zsasz saw him pick up a stone and skip it in the mud. Two more children ran up to him, laughing.

Several feet in front of them, an old woman made her way down the dusty street, struggling under her heavy load. A younger woman appeared suddenly at her side, steadying her. There was an undeniable warmth in the women's eyes as they looked at each other.

_With their poverty, what on earth do they have to be happy about?_ Zsasz thought incredulously. _They're being starved, living lives that are out of their control! Shouldn't they be craving salvation? Shouldn't that time under the bandits' control have stamped the life out of them?_

Not far away, a group of three men approached the children playing in the mud. They called out in another language and the children answered, running barefoot and dirty to them. One of the men swung a child into his arms, and the other two jumped up and down. Then Zsasz saw that another of the men had a loaf of bread under one arm – was that really going to feed all of them? The small crowd of men and children walked away, poor and smiling.

He thought of all the unhappy people back in Gotham City. Unlike the Gothamites, the villagers' faces weren't grey and pale, but rather golden and lively… What secrets did these peasants have?

The two women from earlier passed him in the road, the younger one carrying the older one's load. The younger woman looked up and smiled in greeting as she walked by him – as if they weren't strangers. Startled, Zsasz directly met her gaze. Tawny brown eyes in a golden face, warm and guileless.

Zsasz gaped in astonishment, even as the two women strolled on.

_She'd looked like Danielle._

_._

_._

**_Presently..._**

_._

* * *

Beautiful. Stormy, misty, and beautiful. Danielle loved it when the Gotham sky was like this.

It was early afternoon, but you would never know it by the dark clouds and pouring rain. She could almost taste the frost in the air. The pavement on the bridge was slippery, and she slid more than a few times.

Beneath the great Pioneer Bridge, the Sprang River was turning icy. It had been a while since Danielle had walked to this side of town. Old Gotham was the most likely place to start looking for Zsasz, however.

_I have to be crazy to be doing this. There has to be over a hundred phone booths in this city, and I'm aiming to catalogue ALL of them?! Then again, how else do you catch crazy?_

Her notebook was ready. As she got to the other side of the bridge, she spotted the first phone booth. It was in the middle of Sheldon Park, which had been renovated three years earlier. A plaque stood in the center, commemorating Wonder Tower, which had once stood on this spot. The plaque was covered in graffiti. A rougher crowd ran here these days. Danielle copied the number down quickly, then rushed over to the next street.

The Bowery. Her old neighborhood. This was the block where she used to live. She saw the phone booth on the corner and wondered, not for the first time, if Zsasz had ever called her from there, taunting her while staring up at her window, like the predator he was. _555-9112._ Now he would never sneak up on her again.

She continued onward, in the direction of her old hideout. A family was living there now. The burned walls had been mended, the memories erased. But she felt the scars on her skin, clear as day. There was a phone booth a half-block beyond it. _555-7281._

She continued through the Bowery, working her way towards Park Row. As she neared the edge of the neighborhood, a particular store caught her eye. _The Baudelaire._ The store was obviously closed - in fact, the windows were smashed out. As she looked more closely, she could see that it had once housed plants. Immediately, she thought of Poison Ivy. Where was she now? Had she resumed her rampage against humanity? Or was she on the trail of the man who had imprisoned both her and Zsasz – that man Rā's al Ghūl?

She copied down the number across the street – _555-2572_ – and moved on.

The rain was pounding fiercely now. She shielded her notebook as best she could, craning her head back to look up at the sky. Falling raindrops glistened in the orange streetlight. When she squinted, it almost appeared like snow, though she knew that would be here soon enough. When it rained like this, she could pretend it was washing away the grime of Gotham City, offering hope to all the downtrodden people. She smiled.

She slipped quickly through Park Row, near the old campaign office of Harvey Dent, past the Monarch Theatre, Solomon Wayne Courthouse, and her favorite, the magnificent Church. That place had saved her many times from Zsasz, kept her holding on to hope as she drank in the beauty of the stained glass windows.

Her notebook was full of phone numbers.

She was halfway through Amusement Mile when exhaustion hit her. She pushed herself to find the phones in Amusement Mile and the Industrial District before she finally decided to call it quits. _Tomorrow,_ she told herself as she headed back for the Pioneer Bridge. _I'll finish this tomorrow. And then Zsasz won't know what hit him._

**_-/-/-/-/-_**

_Merry Christmas, everyone! :)_


	23. Chapter 22: Perfume

A/N: _This is Secty to all points! I could really use some air support! Since I don't own Batman. At all. _ (sadly, I don't own _Justice League Unlimited_ either).

4S and TawniBravo, thank you for the reviews! :) 4S, glad you're rooting for Danielle! Hoping right along with you that she kicks butt! ;) TawniBravo, same here! I just want to skip straight ahead to the part where they meet again, lol. Thank you for the good health wishes. :) Thank you Person P and siobreese for Following/Favoriting!

Happy 2015, everyone! :D

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**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Twenty-Two: PERFUME-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

The lights were out as usual when she arrived home, soaking wet and exhausted.

She was still jumpy about entering her apartment. She'd cleaned up the glass, and the window had been repaired a week ago – wonderful thing about being attacked on a Friday night, she'd had all of last weekend to make arrangements – but her home felt so tainted now. Did traces of Scarecrow's fear toxin somehow still cling to the wallpaper? She felt so.

The sound of the rain from outside was soothing, though, like a lullaby.

In the dark, a red light blinked from her table. Her phone. A message.

Not bothering with the lights, Danielle hurried over to the answering machine and listened:

_"My sweet Danielle."_ A chuckle. _"You have not been doing a good job of paying attention, have you? I thought you said you weren't going to ignore me anymore. Tsk tsk. Well, I am sure you will get this soon enough. I would say call back and leave a message, but… you can't. I suppose I will just have to meet with you personally, then, won't I? Do not worry, I will find you. I'm looking forward to it."_ Click.

Eagerly, Danielle checked Caller ID. _555-7281._ The number near her old hideout! "I knew he was stalking me back then!" Somehow all of this – his message to her, the location from which he had called – felt very nostalgic. Almost absently, her finger brushed the button, and Zsasz's raspy voice filled the apartment again.

As she listened to the message for a second time, Danielle frowned.

Zsasz's voice sounded flatter than usual. His words were as sing-songy as always, but they lacked the usual spark behind them.

"Bad night, maybe? Did a kill get away from him? Is he still pissed off about me rescuing my friends?" _Thank goodness._ "Or was it his ordeal with Rā's? Is he still angry with me for making him talk about it?"

She watched a raindrop drift lazily down her newly repaired window.

"…Whatever it is, there's something familiar about it…"

* * *

Saturday night. Bright lights.

The smell of perfume and cigarette smoke wafted through the air.

When Zsasz closed his eyes, he could almost pretend it was a casino. The same emptiness saturated this dingy place. Oh, back then, he was sure he'd felt differently. The casino had been a place of desperate hope. He was filled with something _back then_ – the impossible wish that his parents could come back. Somehow. Or that somehow, the money they had left him could bring their presence to him, if only he spent it in the right way. The casinos hadn't been the right way. He knew this now. He might have even known it then.

"Did I see you so briefly when I died?" he wondered softly.

He couldn't remember. Whatever memories and things he had experienced while he was gone, had faded. Into the ether. He remembered the line to a poem, written by a long-dead poet: _"Only those who stay dead / shall remember death." _

He couldn't remember. He would never know if he'd found that peace he always searched for, that higher plane of existence. Had his great work placed him somewhere wonderful, amongst angels? He didn't know.

_Someday I will ascend again, but I suppose that in the meantime, I am needed here. Until that day comes, I will see through my great mission and ferry more lost souls to the higher plane. I will obey my calling!_

That must be why he was brought back. He was meant to continue his righteous work, to come to HERE of all places and liberate…

He felt hands on his shoulders. A woman's touch. He looked up into blue eyes muddied by drugs and despair, though he supposed she was trying to look seductive. A soft cloud of glitter seemed to emanate from her. The woman gave him a plastic smile and flipped her silky blonde hair. Zsasz managed a smirk of his own.

Her chest hovered above his face. She smelled like vanilla and sweat – to another man it might smell good, but for him, he wanted to taint that scent, make her smell of blood instead – careful, he was getting excited, and not in the way she wanted!

Thankfully the woman got off him, flouncing away when he failed to slip money into the band of her thin panties. He saw another man, cheeks ruddy, run a hand across her bottom and caress it.

He was in a disgusting strip club.

Not even a classy one, as he might have visited before he was saved. Oh no, this one was in the heart of the Bowery, the seediest one he could find. Here was where the people were emptiest. Every single soul in this building surely deserved to be liberated. Here it would be _easy_ to find his next mark.

His hands shook as he caressed the knife through his pants' pocket.

The blonde dancer gave him a look. She must have thought he was masturbating. Maybe he would use her assumption, lure her into a private suite with promises of money and then leave her posed… grant her salvation.

Another dancer had come up on the stage. Long brown hair almost down to her waist, olive skin, curvy, swaying to the music.

She looked a little like Danielle.

He straightened up, watching her with careful interest. She turned slowly, revealing full lips and smooth eyebrows. He watched her dance slowly, enticingly, and when her dance ended he kept his focus on her. Could it be her? If he killed someone who resembled Danielle, could he get his mojo back somehow? That message he had left her earlier that night just hadn't given him the same thrill it used to.

He was becoming soft. He hadn't killed her friends when he had the chance. And now here he was, making deals with her to spare their pathetic lives! And what did he have to show for it?! He hadn't seen that frustrating woman in almost a week!

Zsasz growled. The pretty brunette dancer looked over at him. _Oh no._

With liquid grace in her hips, she practically floated over to him. Unlike the other dancer, she didn't throw herself at him; rather she stared down at him, a crimson smile painting her mouth blood red. He looked up at her eyes. Danielle's were a deep brown, almost earthy. This woman had light green eyes.

_Talia!_

He bolted out of his chair. The dancer started in alarm. "What's your problem?"

He hurried down the red carpet, nearly tripping over a waiter. The drinks he was holding wobbled dangerously. "Hey!"

Zsasz was out the door. A few paces from the entrance, he stopped, breathing heavily, trying to get the sudden intrusive image of Talia al Ghūl out of his mind.

.

**_Two years earlier..._**

.

.

Zsasz admired the dagger shining in the sunlight. Oh, it was a thing of beauty! Taken from the corpse of a thief he had executed, handle encrusted with rubies and emeralds…

He reclined on the soft cushions that lined his room in Rā's palace. Silk sheets covered the window, sparing him from the worst of the rays, but sunlight peaked through as the soft wind made the silk flutter.

Today was a rare day of rest. He had planned to idle today away. It had been a long time since he had thought about anything but training and missions. Ever since he had slaughtered the bandits of the small desert village six months ago, Rā's had been taking him along on his trips, on his quests. He had done great work so far. His Master's agricultural plan was underway. There was a new series of missions ahead. Now that the scientists were thoroughly testing the new species they'd created, allowing the villagers to harvest samples of the crops for them, Rā's and his legions had changed bases. They were now residing a couple of countries away in this massive desert palace, one of Rā's older hideouts, and they were soon to begin negotiations with the local branch of a certain huge agricultural company. So much work lay ahead of them still.

It was strange but nice to have a moment of peace.

Though now, in this quiet moment, he noticed something distinctively _dis_quieting. Cautiously he raised an arm, examining it in the light that filtered in, angling it to see better.

"No, it cannot be!" he murmured to himself. "My eyes must be playing tricks…"

His marks were… _FADING_. But how?! Was it the desert sun making them disappear? Or could it possibly be-?

"The Honorable Rā's al Ghūl requests your presence. Make yourself presentable at once!"

Zsasz hastily slipped the knife away at the sound of the kunoichi's voice. Oh, he knew he wouldn't be chastised, per say, if they were to catch him using one – but he might well be mocked. As Rā's had told him, the knife was the tool of the common thief, the wretch, while the scimitar was the mark of the warrior.

"Of course," Zsasz replied stiffly to the kunoichi, and she immediately departed. Zsasz let his demeanor drop only the slightest once she was gone. He was now a master at hiding his true feelings behind a mask of respect. If Rā's had taught him anything, it was how to control his quick temper.

He had risen from the soft cushions and put on a robe when four members of the elite guard entered his room. They stood in the doorway, swords raised respectfully, and a woman entered in between them.

She was beautiful. High cheekbones, pouty lips, a curvaceous body. Long, dark brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, though the tips were a dirty blonde. Light green eyes, almost mint in color, took in her surroundings before focusing on him. In spite of the casual white sundress she was wearing, elegance and authority emanated from her. Zsasz's heartbeat stopped and he swallowed inaudibly.

He knew who this was. Who she must be.

_Rā's al Ghūl's daughter, Talia._

"Honorable Lady, we present to you the Master's protege, Victor Zsasz!"

"Dismissed," the woman replied, and the elite guard filed out. Zsasz felt distinctively put on the spot, though she smiled at him pleasantly enough.

"Miss al Ghūl, a pleasure to meet you." He genuflected.

"Likewise," Talia replied.

As Zsasz stood up from his bow, he watched Talia carefully. She had wandered aimlessly over to peer out the window, and the incoming breeze fanned her perfume across the room. "How are you enjoying your stay so far, Mr. Zsasz?"

"It is very comfortable here, thank you."

She turned in mild surprise. "Comfortable? Do you think the life of a warrior is comfortable?"

"No," Zsasz spluttered over his words. "I merely meant-"

"Relax," Talia laughed. "I understand what you meant. You meant to compliment my father's hospitality." She inspected the room, while Zsasz kept his gaze on her. "Such fanciful surroundings for a mere lieutenant, don't you think?"

"The Master has been very generous to me. He rewards his followers."

"Clearly, he has rewarded you. Do you find your work satisfying, Mr. Zsasz?"

"I do my Master's work proudly. My full loyalties lie with him."

"Really?"

Her eyes were calculating now; she was sizing him up. Automatically, he began to do the same. Muscles began to stand out to him, on display and yet hidden by the delicate dress she wore, her overall seductive manner. He had practically forgotten she was a warrior in their short encounter! Her femininity was a trap, a way of getting her enemies to underestimate her …and it had worked on him. But no more. Even without an obvious weapon, he guessed she was likely deadlier than any of her elite guard. Why wouldn't she be? She was the daughter of the Great Rā's al Ghūl. He would have perfected her.

He became aware that she was smiling at him again. His gaze had lingered for too long.

"Like what you see?" she asked.

Zsasz looked away in a display of humility. "It is always a pleasure to receive the daughter of my Master."

"My father says you have been of great use to him. Those old hangars from your former business have been most useful to his operations."

"We're only lucky Bruce Wayne did not appropriate them when he bought my failed company all those years ago. The properties were untouched."

"What a stroke of genius on your part to offer them for the League's use."

"The genius was never mine," Zsasz replied, though it _had_ in fact been his own idea. "It was always your father's."

"You would do well to remember that respect," Talia said, and she smiled again, almost-pleasantly. "Make no mistake, I will not submit to you!"

"What?" For a moment Zsasz was so taken aback by her sudden razor tone that he forgot to appear respectful. "What are you talking about …Miss al Ghūl?"

"Surely Father told you." She threw up her hands and laughed mirthlessly. "Father believes that we could be married! You know, he is looking for an heir to his operations." She looked over at him, and now he caught something unpleasant in her eyes. It might have been resentment. "Surely you knew that this was why he was training you?"

"I-" Zsasz paused, then decided that she expected an answer. "I did not know this, Miss. Does this trouble you?"

"I do not question my father's decisions. He merely wanted to know if I myself found you a suitable prospect."

"And…?" Zsasz's heartbeat was finally catching up with him, as well as his thoughts. _Marriage?!_ Rā's al Ghūl expected him to _marry_ his daughter? But-

And for the first time in what seemed like months, he guiltily let his thoughts drift back to Gotham. If he were honest with himself, he hadn't thought about Danielle all that much. She was someone he took for granted. Assuming she hadn't managed to commit suicide – and if she had, he promised himself, he would find her grave, exhume her, and saturate her in a Lazarus Pit (or rather, a "Zsaszarus Pit" as he secretly called them) until she returned to life – she would be waiting for him to take her again, once he made it back home. This was something that was unquestionable.

Bile spewed in him at Rā's audacity, but he kept silent. His master did not know about the girl back home. He would never know.

_Show no weakness._

Meanwhile, Talia was looking him up and down. "Your physique isn't bad… Though I must admit, I expected someone… taller."

"Taller?"

"6', perhaps 6'2"."

"I am your height."

"The height of a beta male. I need someone more dominant than you. Someone who is prepared to lead."

Where were all these judgments coming from, Zsasz wondered, considering that she had known him less than five minutes?

"And what does my height have anything to do with my leadership abilities?" he asked in the calmest voice he could manage.

"It doesn't. That dagger hidden in your right pocket, however, is a dead giveaway. Didn't my father teach you that the scimitar is the mark of a true warrior? Your preference for daggers suggests to me that you might be… compensating for something."

"WHAT?!" Had she really just insinuated-

"I have read your file, Victor Zsasz…" she continued snootily. "You are a known coward. You cower in the face of Batman."

Zsasz gritted his teeth. _Composure,_ he reminded himself. It would do no good to allow her to goad him about his failure to kill Batman – something he still intended to rectify someday. For now, self-control was his friend.

"So I am not your… type," he said airily. "That doesn't distress me. You are a far cry from my type as well."

"Really? You think you could do better than me? Or would you settle for lesser, knowing your place and what is reasonable to expect?"

_Danielle is ten times the woman you are!_

"I prefer them slightly livelier than you," Zsasz replied coolly. "How many times have you bathed in the Lazarus Pit? How old are you, really? For all I know, you are a walking zombie who merely has prolonged your loop."

Talia's eyes flashed. "How dare you insult the Great Rā's al Ghūl… or me!"

Suddenly a sword was in her hands. She pointed it at Zsasz. It was then he realized that for all her "aimless wandering", she had never once given him her back. She'd had that sword on her the whole time!

"Make no mistake, Victor Zsasz," she vowed. "You might have my father's favor, but you will never have mine. And you will never inherit my father's legacy!" With that, she turned on her heel and strode from the room.

Zsasz stared after her, his heart pounding with exhilaration and hatred. "No loss there," he murmured.

Needless to say, Talia's word held much more sway than Zsasz's privileged position with Rā's. Within a day, he had been moved to a much less luxurious room, one like those of the other assassins. Zsasz did not complain. He would not willingly give "the Brat of the Great Rā's al Ghūl" the satisfaction.

However, things were about to get much worse. Zsasz would have something very important to complain about, very soon.

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**Presently...**_

_**.**_

Chilling rain pounded on his bald head, bringing him back to the present.

Zsasz took a deep breath. When he exhaled, he forcibly banished his thoughts of Talia al Ghūl. But the hatred remained. _I need to cure her of life. She is long, long overdue for my knife._

He hated remembering. The memories were not pleasant by any means. Recalling the beginning of his time with Rā's made him cringe now, no matter how good it had been, considering how foolish and gullible he was. He had given them so much power-

Zsasz clamped his teeth, drawing blood from the tip of his tongue. Without wasting another moment, he hurried back to the strip club.

The very same dancer as before swept in front of him, working the floor. He thrust his hand into his pocket, offering her crumpled bills. She didn't seem to remember his outburst earlier and accepted the money. There was enough there to entice her to lead him into a back room, where privacy could be theirs.

He watched her as she dipped her hips, beginning her dance of emptiness. Watched as she discarded her silky ruby red underwear and brassiere on the dirty carpet. The shimmer of her brown hair, the glimmer of her light green eyes, her glistening bronzed skin… All an act. A pitiful act.

He could feel the heat from her skin, smell her heavy perfume as she twisted her body expertly over his. He watched her toss her head back, exposing her soft neck. He waited until she was dancing above his lap, her back to him.

The blade slipped softly across her throat, painting her neck the same red shade as her underwear.

Insides, out.

He left her posed on the sleazy leather, her illusion shattered. When he slipped out, no one noticed, and no one rushed to check on her. But then, no one had noticed her in life either. They had only noticed her body, only sought to covet an intangible promise, to use her only for their own needs. The perfume must have deceived her too, to let herself be so used… But no matter. She was free now.

And yet the peace didn't come, nor did the elation he usually felt after a kill. He still felt…_off._

How was he going to get back on his game?

As he passed one corner where three particularly rough-looking men were drinking, he caught sight of an advertisement on the wall: "Enjoy arctic dining at the Iceberg Lounge." A gentleman smiled out jauntily from the ad, top hat and cigar smugly perched. Zsasz's eyes narrowed.

_Penguin!_

A familiar surge of white-hot rage flooded him at seeing the Penguin's ad. Oh, he would never forget that night he lost everything to him, in that very establishment! And then to be imprisoned again, humiliated by him. True, it was for a _much_ shorter duration than he'd been with Rā's al Ghūl, but still...

Oh, if he wouldn't love to march right in there and give that disgusting midget a piece of his mind-

And then, Zsasz smiled. Maybe he knew a way to get his game back after all.

**_-/-/-/-/-_**


	24. Chapter 23: Poker

Hi everyone. I'm sorry to have been away for so long. It's been a very rough last few months, both health-wise and family-wise, and it's been harder to write with everything going on. As a thank you for waiting for so long, I'll be posting two chapters - hopefully the next one will be up in the next couple of days. I am almost finished with it. Thank you to everyone for the reviews! 5 reviews last chapter - I've never gotten that many before on my Zsasz stories, and it made me very happy. :)

4S: Hi there! :) You're right, Talia was dead. I figure if the ninjas stole Ra's body to revive him in the after game of _Arkham City_, they probably did the same with her. Her body was missing during the Clayface fight...

Night Monkey: Thank you so much. :) I think you're right, Talia does have some height-ism issues (among many others). If the guy is not the exact same height as Bruce Wayne, she wants nothing to do with him. Poor Zsasz, treated badly for something he has nothing to do with!

TawniBravo and valerygromova: Aww, thank you both so much! :D I'm sorry to have taken so long to update. :/

i've .got .purple. nail. polish: I didn't even think about that with Becky and Scarecrow! Good eye, she was the one who he was really protective over, right? He was recovering until someone hurt her, and then he became Scarecrow again... I wish I'd worked that in somehow, that's a story that adds a lot more depth to him. :)

Thank you, i've .got .purple. nail. polish, Fuchsia .Grasshopper, valerygromova, Zaconator and Zackis, sparkles64, and anyone else I've missed for Following/Favoriting this and _Salve, Salvage, &amp; Salvation_. (To Fuchsia and purple, I'm sorry I wrote your names strangely; the document kept deleting your names unless I put spaces in between the periods. Sorry about this. *sheepish* I do not understand the quirks of FFN editor sometimes... *glares menacingly at Save button*).

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**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Twenty-Three: POKER-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

_._

**_Two years ago..._**

_._

_._

"Oh, for the love of—Not again!"

Impatiently, Zsasz set down the knife – for the tenth time, no less! – and rubbed the skin of his forearms. They had been itching like crazy for the past week or so. A deep hissing sigh rose from his lips, and he had to stop before he scratched himself raw.

He was in his small square room, sharpening his blades. Ever since Talia's visit a few weeks ago, he had been stuck here. It seemed that the Mistress al Ghūl had a great deal of sway in the goings-on of her father's operations, Zsasz noted with a sneer.

He supposed he didn't blame Rā's, much anyway. It wasn't easy to say no to your daughter, he imagined – even if the daughter-in-question was a royal brat! Besides, his Master had been quite busy–

And here Zsasz stopped himself from continuing the thought. He'd been having trouble thinking of Rā's as "Master" these past few weeks. Zsasz was still respectful to Rā's, of course. He still believed in what the man was doing. But perhaps Rā's endorsement of Talia's treatment of him wasn't so lightly shrugged off after all.

_Perhaps I am just restless,_ he mused. _No missions these last few weeks... Or at least, none that I have been called to perform. If only he had something for me to do, even something small, anything but to remain cooped up here!_

He traced the scars on his skin absently. They felt different under his fingertips. He frowned down at them. They _were_ fading! Even the newer ones... They weren't as distinctive as they were before. Troubled, Zsasz wondered if this was a sign. Were his true purposes being diluted? Was he steadily losing himself to Rā's mission?

He looked around his tiny room, his cage. Usually it was cold in here, but today it was pleasantly warm. Not nearly as warm as his former luxurious room, of course… He imagined how baking hot it must be in there now—

Of course! He rubbed his arms again, watching the goosebumps rise and ripple. _It was summertime!_ It must be; the heat had been steadily increasing for weeks now, and the flush of spring pollen was missing from the air. "Summer..." Zsasz mused. "How could I have missed it?"

Summertime was the most important time of year for him. The anniversary of his parents' deaths was coming up. And the anniversary of the first mark.

_He could almost hear the screaming of the children at the boardwalk in the summertime. He could smell the syrupy funnel cakes and the stench of Gotham Bay. He couldn't smile. He'd had tears in his eyes. Surrounded by families, this empty happiness meant nothing to him. Nothing... Without someone to enjoy it with._

_He'd been 25 years old then. It was a month after he'd lost his parents to the boating accident. He'd gone to the fairgrounds hoping to cheer himself up, but it had done the opposite. He'd found himself in the arcade, listlessly playing the kiddie slot machines _—_ in retrospect, he wondered if that had helped start or shaped his gambling addiction. Just another fruitless effort towards filling up the void that nothing could sate._

Summer. A year ago, he had been in Gotham, with Danielle. The memory burst to mind, clear as day: he had stood with her on the Sprang Bridge, and then... he had fallen with her. But only he had died- _That's right, __Catwoman saved her!_ He remembered this now and spared a thought of grudging thanks for Catwoman. Not that it would stop him from taking her mark the next time he saw her...

A whole year ago. Where was she now? Where was his Alive Girl?

He needed to go back. He needed to go _home_.

His fingers itched. How could he break it to Rā's? Perhaps ask if there were any missions within Gotham he could take? No, it was too obvious. If Rā's saw his interest in returning home, he would find out about Danielle one way or another. He could make up a story, say that he wanted to return for Batman's mark (which was accurate)… But he knew that Rā's wanted Batman for himself. It was obvious. Although Rā's rarely spoke about Batman, Zsasz had the distinctive impression that whatever their quarrel, it was _personal_ between them.

He was distracting himself. Zsasz knew he was clever enough to think of an excuse to return to Gotham if he really wanted to. So why wasn't he? If Rā's wasn't standing in his way, then what was _really_ holding Zsasz back from returning?

The question made his guts twist unpleasantly. Grudgingly, Zsasz acknowledged the telltale sign of his own reaction. And for the very first time, he admitted to himself what was true: he was _scared_ to return.

_"What if she really did kill herself?"_

Zsasz shuddered. What if Danielle had killed herself after all? What if after everything he had done, what if after everything he had shown her about life, his Alive Girl couldn't take it anymore? She had meant for them to die together, yet only _he_ had fallen. What if she had decided to join him after all? Maybe not right after him, not with Batman and Catwoman present, but later... Perhaps she had allowed herself to be rescued, then returned later under cover of night, staring down at his empty watery grave before throwing herself in, and all for _nothing_…

What if he couldn't recover her body when he returned? The thought damn near caused him panic.

She was so fragile when he was with her on the Sprang Bridge… He remembered too clearly the words she sobbed: _"I would be compromising myself, compromising everything, to be with someone who kills others."_

The guilt was flooding thickly now.

_"I want you to cut my throat and then throw me in the Sprang River. This is one murder you never need to take credit for. Don't pose me, I don't want to imitate a life I willingly left…"_

Zsasz buried his head in his hands.

* * *

It was a simple enough errand. One of their affiliate villages was under attack by a band of criminals. The League of Shadows was sent to defend their allies and investments. Zsasz was just happy to get out of his room.

The horde had already murdered a significant number of civilians, and the remaining population had fled into the mountains before the League's arrival, putting them out of harm's way. Now, with no innocents to rescue, all that was left was to retake the village from the criminals.

As Zsasz strode down the streets, fellow assassins at his back, he could smell the blood on the warm summer air. Soon the smell would putrefy, he knew. The bodies would need to be burned as soon as possible.

A crew of bandits attacked. The other ninja split off, each with their own quarries. Each one could easily hold their own while outnumbered. Blood ran in the streets.

As Zsasz dodged and let his scimitar fall, he wondered again what Danielle was doing. If she was alive... was she standing on the Sprang Bridge, mourning for him? Or... again, _if_ she was still alive... had she moved on already? Had she forgotten about him?

His stomach twisted when he realized how far away from home he had really been all this time. Like a valley – he jabbed his sword into an attacker's eye – like a chasm before him, he felt dizzy at the realization. He needed to pay his respects to his parents, find Danielle, there was so much to do… His thoughts were getting too distracted.

The blow came quickly. He couldn't block the second one.

He was dead before he felt it.

* * *

_ZZZZZZZZT!_

Green lightning. Agonizing pain.

_ZZZZZZZZT!_

Zsasz didn't scream. The pain was familiar. He took comfort in it. Pain meant that he was still alive. Somehow.

The lightning spread through his veins. His body was spasming, he knew. He couldn't control himself. He could only watch. Watch, and listen to the murmurs all around him. Some sounded concerned, others angry, while still others were laughing. Vaguely he wondered what was so funny, but soon the voices were drowned out by the gurgling in his ears, and his skin burned.

A film of green covered his eyes. Slowly, gradually it faded, and when Zsasz came back to himself, he was lying on his bed, in his small square room, alone.

He sat up abruptly. The peculiar smell of chemicals lingered in the air. He held up a hand and saw the greenish sheen from his strange vision, lingering on his skin. _Lazarus!_

"I was dead…" he whispered, the memory of the criminal's flail coming back violently. He flinched. "My Master brought me back…"

A wave of thankfulness had him sitting silently, awestruck. Slowly he ran a hand over his head. Not a single mark or bruise on him. He laughed in relief and then looked down at his arms. His skin was so beautifully alive, shimmering and glowing with good health—

_"WHAT?!"_

Zsasz fell off the bed, screaming in horror.

"WHERE ARE MY MARKS?!"

* * *

"An unfortunate side-effect of the Lazarus Pit, no doubt, but hardly worth such a fuss," Rā's said calmly. Zsasz had been standing in his private quarters for ten minutes, desperately trying (and failing) to appear level-headed. Zsasz's eyes nearly bugged out at Rā's dismissive words. "The loss of your marks is a small price to pay for renewed life."

"But—" Zsasz looked at the floor, ashamed, like a small child.

"As a sign of your gratitude to me, merely prepare yourself for the next mission. You will find a closet of suits three doors down from your room. Choose one; the next mission is a diplomatic one, and we must look professional. No bloodshed. Can you do this? Or are you…by chance…ungrateful?"

"I—I understand. I am very grateful, Master." He swept out of the room quickly.

Rā's had given him another mission already. He had not even been conscious, nay, _revived_ an hour, and he was already being sent out. Zsasz gazed resentfully down at his skin. He felt…naked. Empty. Not even his service to Rā's could cover the pain of losing his marks…

But wait! Zsasz felt hope surge in him. He remembered every person he had ever killed… What if he were to remake all the marks? It wouldn't be the same as the original ones… But it would keep his work alive. Zsasz smiled, took out a knife, and began his work.

* * *

"What kept you, Victor?" Rā's usual patience failed him. _"Is that blood on your suit?"_

Zsasz bowed his head. "Yes, Master. I have come up with a solution. I will remake each mark myself, lovingly, without complaint. I do not forget the service the Lazarus has done for me; I am forever in your debt for resurrecting me, Master! I am grateful for the chance to make the marks again—"

He stopped when he felt a blade at his throat. He looked up into Rā's blazing eyes. He flinched. Rā's looked terrifying.

"We must be professional at all times," the Master's voice was barely a hiss. "Just because we are assassins, does not mean we are not _professional_ about it. You wore this sharp suit to present an impression, to conceal an objective. And instead of taking that seriously, you roll around like a child before a grand event, making it filthy."

"Please, Master. There is no need to speak to me like a child—"

"But you are a child… aren't you, Victor?" The sword taunted him. When Zsasz gulped, his Adam's apple touched the scimitar's blade, and he could feel its sharpness. He adopted his best poker face; how would he appease the dragon?

"I don't merely mean in comparison to my significant lifespan." An amused smile painted the old man's face, and the words that fell from his mouth were like knives. "You have never truly grown up, have you, Victor? Your parents were your world, your guidance, until you were 25 years old. You never tried to strike out on your own before then. No, you were contented to ride on your mother's apron strings, making a business that complemented theirs, but never being your own man. And then they died, and you were left without a purpose, without guidance. They died, and still you did not grow up. Like a lost child, you wandered, pursuing whatever struck your fancy, whatever interested you. But your purpose was fleeting and volatile. It needed to be molded and forged into something more solid. I helped you forge your talents. I am your savior, Victor. You follow _me_ now, the father you have regained. Now, my purpose… is _your_ purpose."

Zsasz couldn't breathe.

"Go change, Victor," Rā's said with deceptive softness, and the scimitar lowered only a little, "And do not let me catch you making your ridiculous marks ever again."

Legs shaking like a newborn fawn's, Zsasz left the room to suit up once again.

Halfway to the rendezvous, his skin began to itch again. Could it be the continuing healing from the Lazarus Pit as it wiped away his marks into oblivion? His life's work entering the void?

Shortly thereafter, his scalp itched. He had shaved it, of course.

When his fingers began itching, he could no longer deny what was happening.

It was as if a fog had lifted. _"Master"?!_ Just what was Zsasz doing, calling another man "Master"? What was he doing, running errands for this _zombie?!_ Victor Zsasz, self-made serial killer, answered only to _himself!_ Where had he gone for the last year?

Zsasz's grip tightened on the knife hidden in his suit. It was small enough to go unnoticed (so he hoped) by the ninjas at his back. Again, he was leading them, the face of Rā's operations. His butt monkey.

_He was the goddamn Butcher of Gotham, the one and only Mr. Zsasz! He took orders from NO ONE!_

Zsasz kept his face neutral as they entered the meeting place.

Throughout the meeting, he smiled customarily. He and their host exchanged meaningless pleasantries, he gave the necessary information and nothing more, and they eventually came to a gracious agreement. Rā's lieutenants were no more tense than usual; they suspected nothing. Now all that was left was to close the deal.

Zsasz stood up, smile beaming on his face, and reached across the desk to shake the man's hand. As they shook, the knife came up between them, silver and fast, and the man's neck was severed.

Blood spurted across Zsasz's face.

In a heartbeat, smoke descended upon the room, thrown by one of the assassins. When the smoke cleared, the deceased contact's bodyguards lay unconscious on the floor, none the wiser, but Zsasz was already gone.

He knew that they would be after him soon enough. But as he ducked through the cobblestone streets, he hoped his luck would hold out.

To his credit, it took them three hours to find him. Zsasz had managed to flee the city and was passing through another one when they caught up to him. And now, as they faced off in the middle of the street, Zsasz was acutely aware of every glorious sensation – the dust caressing the sunlit air, the heat prickling his skin, the cooling breeze whispering in his ears. It felt like… freedom.

The ninjas attacked. Zsasz parried the offensive of one, twisted under her arm, and stabbed another one beneath her ribs. She fell. Then two more were in front of him, a man and a woman, and as Zsasz twisted to avoid the man, the woman stabbed him through with her scimitar.

* * *

"…Are you certain it will not short out during the resurrection process?"

A soft voice, drifting somewhere above him. The green film was back over his eyes. But this time, he could hear. There were two people here with him, and they were talking in hushed voices.

"…Perfect condition, Master. We could give it a test—"

"Excellent."

Zsasz drifted for the longest moment, stomach flipping wildly as the green lightning arced through it once again. It felt like gasoline filling him, making him sick, keeping him alive. Returning him to life.

_This must be the Lazarus Pit,_ he realized again. _That means…_

"ARRRRGHH!"

The pain came suddenly, right directly in the back of his head. It felt as though a drill were going straight through to his brain.

"AAAAAAAAARRRGHHHH!"

And then, it was over. Zsasz was awake now, staring up into the hate-filled eyes of Rā's al Ghul.

In that moment, he knew that there was no way Rā's was going to keep him alive. Zsasz didn't know why he had even bothered to heal him in the Pit. If looks could kill…

_Zsasz was as good as dead._

"You disappoint me, Victor," the shout he imagined never came. Rā's voice was a deadly hiss, like a viper. "I suppose my daughter was right. Your true nature came out in the end. Such a pity…" He held up a dagger. "Isn't this the weapon you used to dispose of my contact?"

Zsasz saw that there was blood encrusted on the handle.

"An unfortunate setback, but nothing major. I have other allies." Without warning, he stabbed Zsasz.

"Mmmmmmph!" Lucid as he was, Zsasz had the sense to muffle his screams of pain. He would not show Rā's any weakness. Then again, he wasn't trained to.

The knife lingered in his flesh, and fleetingly, Zsasz wondered if this were what his own victims felt before they died. His body began to shudder. Still, determinedly, he held his killer's gaze.

At length, Rā's withdrew the knife. He held it above his prisoner's face, letting the salty liquid drip down into his eyes. Zsasz blinked rapidly, and the blood dripped down the sides of his cheeks, resembling tears.

Blinded by the blood, he didn't see Rā's raise the knife again.

"UHHH!" As Rā's pierced his shoulder, the slightest noise escaped from his clenched jaw. Rā's twisted the knife cruelly, and Zsasz felt part of his body go numb. Rā's removed the knife before stabbing the other shoulder.

It seemed like hours went by before Rā's spoke again. By that time, Zsasz's body was a bloody mess. Barely conscious, he listened to Rā's quiet speech.

"You betrayed me, Victor. After everything I have done for you. Now the price for insubordination is usually death, but I have bigger plans for you. Oh, don't worry, you _will _die, but you will still be of use to me."

SWWT! Zsasz's throat gurgled, cut. The world was fading quickly now. As the blackness set in, he saw Rā's stare. It was even more tiger-like now...

* * *

_ZZZZZZ!_ Green electricity in his stomach. Gasoline in his veins.

The pain was excruciating this time. He wondered if it were because there was more of him to heal. And like before, at the end of the pain was glorious life. He felt every nerve, every sensation – as if he were more alive than ever.

In time, he came to again. He expected that. What he did not expect was to find himself, still strapped to the same table – and Rā's, looking down at him as if no time had passed.

"Do you understand now, Victor?" Rā's said quietly. Zsasz screamed as the knife plunged in unexpectedly. "Do you understand what the price is for your failure?"

Again and again the knife stabbed, moving at such a frantic tempo that Zsasz was amazed he could still feel every agonizing blow. His screams nearly drowned out Rā's words, but Rā's leaned even closer to his face and enunciated:

"You will die many times over – and I will bring you back to life each time to kill you, again and again – for betraying me. And once I have broken you, once I have made you wish to renounce your pathetic life – I will make you my slave once again. Your fate lies in my hands, Victor."

Rā's kept his word. During the torture, Zsasz died over and over again, and each time he was resurrected and awoke on that wretched table, staring up at the Demon's Head. When at last Rā's had had his fill, Zsasz was thrown into a cage.

And there he stayed, new chip fitted and whirring away in the back of his head, ensuring that he would never disobey Rā's directly ever again. Rā's slave, body and mind – _but never soul._

_._

_._

**_Presently..._**

_._

10:30pm, Saturday night. Reggie was making his usual rounds when he heard a knock at the door. "Now who could that be?" he wondered to himself. Pulling up his purple hoodie a little tighter (it had been raining intermittently all night), he strode over to the door and opened the lookout slot.

"Hello?"

He peered out and saw nothing but grey.

"Anybody—"

_SWITT!_

Reggie the doorman fell to his knees, a blade embedded where his eyeball used to be. A long lithe hand reached through the lookout slot, unlocking the door and knocking the dead man to the floor.

Victor Zsasz had invaded the Iceberg Lounge!

**-/-**

10:35pm. Helper was wandering the halls of the Lounge. He could hear the other men grumbling over their cards, and he grumbled a little to himself about why he always had to be on the job instead of at one of those card tables. Then he sighed when he remembered why: because his nickname was _'Helper'._ Duh.

His cheeks reddened and he glared at the ground suddenly. Someone had left a puddle of water for him to clean up. He wondered if Reggie had done it. Reggie was always sneaking out and taking smoke breaks and leaving his cigarette butts all over the walkway…

Helper angrily grabbed a mop (with a penguin handle, no less!) and got to work cleaning it up…

He was so immersed in his task that he didn't notice the vent opening overhead and the man dropping down behind him.

**-/-/-**

10:37pm. Smartie adjusted his glasses as he hurried to the restroom. The heaters were on inside the Lounge, and combined with the humidity from the rain, it was making his glasses fog up. It wouldn't be easy to play cards with foggy glasses, now would it?

Smartie mused for a second that he was the only thug he knew who wore glasses. He wondered why more of them didn't; he knew some of them needed glasses, with the way they aimed!

The man saw a red blur in front of him – a hoodie. Looked like Helper was sleeping on the job again. "Hey, man, you really want the Bat to catch you napping—"

He bent down to shake Helper. Helper didn't move.

"Hey, Hamburger Helper! Up and at 'em!"

He gave the man's shoulder an extra hard shake. Helper's head suddenly lolled backward, revealing the deep gash in his neck. Smartie's voice fled him. Even with his foggy glasses, he could clearly make out the wide-eyed, blank stare on Helper's face.

"Ugh—" he stepped back, heart pounding, and prepared to turn away, run and warn the others. He bumped into someone. Spun around.

Victor Zsasz's dark eyes were the last things he ever saw.

_SLASH!_

**-/-/-/-**

10:42pm. The Iceberg Lounge was just as he remembered it. He hadn't been here in years, not since that night. The last time he was at the museum, the Penguin had brought him in through the front entrance, tied up, and thrown him in a cage. An animal on display, that was all he had been. Until he escaped. And now here he was. He looked up at the huge hunk of ice in the middle of the room, and his eyes were every bit as cold.

He could count 16 people in the Iceberg Lounge, if he listened carefully. It wasn't easy, considering how similar the men all sounded. He couldn't hear the Penguin's distinctive squawking. Good; that meant he could first dismiss the guests and then have the bird all to himself.

Zsasz smiled and fingered his knife. At long last, he would have his revenge.

"And now for my greatest work of art yet..." he whispered giddily. "They won't believe it when they see it! I bet even Batman will wonder how I did it. Enemy or not, Rā's trained me well," he laughed to himself as he slipped into the nearest floor grate.

"So why we get a game night anyway?" he could hear voices. "Not that I'm complaining..."

"The boss has got a meeting with the Riddler. Something top secret. Apparently he didn't want no one seeing the green man in here… Riddler must know something big!"

Zsasz peered up through the grate to see two pairs of legs and the underside of a table. He must be in one of the side rooms, the ones used for "fine dining", shady deals, or card games. Was this the very room where he had lost everything to the Penguin all those years ago? He couldn't remember.

From what the two men were saying, it sounded like they were Penguin's henchmen. Not guests.

"Wow! Boss doesn't usually close up shop like this," the first goon began jiggling his legs. "But what makes you so sure the Riddler freak knows anything? Maybe he just wants to join forces against the Bat or something."

"Naw, man," the other goon said confidently. "The Riddler _knows things_. He just… _knows._ It's what he does or something, he's supposed to be really smart..."

"How smart can he be? They're meeting in the room with _Tiny_. If boss don't like what Riddler's selling, he can just throw him in, or shoot him with his umbrella, sumthin'."

"...Speaking of smarts, where'd Smartie take off to?"

"I don't know where he went to, just deal the cards!"

"Deal the cards? I'm playing Solitaire, dummy!"

"You are? OK... So who goes first?"

"Solitaire is played _alone, _Worker! We're not supposed to be playing with two people!"

"Hey man, Bashful, don't go acting like you graduated high school or sumthin'. I'm sure it works fine with two people..."

"Where's Smartie when we need him?!"

_That's enough entertainment for tonight,_ Zsasz thought as he pulled out a second knife.

A minute later, Worker and Bashful were dead, and Zsasz contemplated their cards. There was an extra deck nearby, and he needed one more six. He arranged the two familiar hands carefully between dead fingers: a three, a four, a five, a six, and a damn seven for one; six of clubs, six of diamonds, six of spades, and six of hearts for the other one. For the loser.

They were both losers tonight.

"Poker reenactment scene one, now complete…"

**-/-/-/-/-**

"Go Fish? Why's it called Go Fish?"

The next room held three people. Zsasz was, once again, in the grate underneath the table. He could see that one of the men was holding a couple extra cards in his lap. Zsasz smirked; why was there always cheating in this hall? How had he missed it when the Penguin had cheated? The smile slipped from his face.

"It's named after Fish Mooney, an old-time gangster. Penguin had a grudge against her, they were bitter enemies—"

"Don't talk about her in front of the boss," the third guy chimed in. "It ruffles his feathers but good — makes him go berserk! Saw him cut someone's throat with a broken bottle once for mentioning her name."

"But if the boss didn't like her, then why don't we call this game Go Penguin?"

"…Good point."

They didn't have time to scream. Zsasz came silently out of the grates behind them and cut their throats before they even knew he was there. Then he once again rearranged the blood-stained cards into his and Penguin's old game, all while the anger steadily built. How many lives had that disgusting, fat midget ruined here in his halls? He doubted he was the first, or the last.

He thought about the glass bottle wedged in the Penguin's face, his "monocle". By the time he was finished with the Penguin, he would wish that glass bottle had killed him.

**-/-/-/-/- -/-/-/-**

The third room held four people. It also seemed to have the liveliest game. Zsasz vaguely wondered if _these_ guys were playing poker, unlike the other two rooms.

"HAHAA! I gotcha!" One man had jumped to his feet, knocking over his chair in his excitement. "You are a liar-liar-pants-on-fire, Sidney! There's no way you're holding twenty-one! Bull-SHIT!"

Obviously not.

"Umm, I hate to break it to you, man…"

"Bull-SHIT!" The man continued his victory dance, scattering cards on the dirty floor.

"Leeroy!" _Thump!_ A jingle of ice and glass. "We ain't playing Bullshit!"

"…We're not?"

"No, man. We're playing Blackjack. Sidney's supposed to be holding 21! That means he wins. Pay up."

Leeroy was pouting now. "But I thought we were—"

"Just pay up."

"Aw man!" Leeroy threw up his hands. "I was gonna spend that money on a birthday present for my ma!"

"…Really? Is your ma hot? I might have a birthday present for her, if ya know what I mean..."

"Hah! No, man. My ma's been dead for ten years. Hah, I bullshitted you!"

"For the last time, it seems," a sinister voice whispered. The men all stood up, toppling cards and drinks. They looked outward, toward the entrance to the small room. From behind, Zsasz wielded Leeroy's fallen chair, sweeping it into their skulls and then cutting their throats while they still lay prone.

Four dead bodies and a Poker game later, Zsasz searched the room for an exit. The floor grate system had inexplicably ended in this room. He'd have to find another way to sneak around. He looked up.

There was a vent in the wall. He smiled.

**-/-/-/-/- ****-/-/-/-/- -/-/-**

Room number four. He could see the card table clearly from above. The vent had led into the ceiling and he could stare down at the men who played. There were _seven_ of them this time.

"Let's play Texas Hold 'Em!"

"Dude, we always play Texas Hold 'Em. Let's play something different tonight… how about 7-Card Stud?"

"No, man!"

"Hey, there's no need to fight… We could play H.O.R.S.E., couldn't we?"

Seven people. Taking them out would be no problem. It would be doing it without alerting the whole museum that would be the real challenge. He would have to do it speedily. He grinned.

"Hey, where's Matches? Haven't seen him around recently, have you?"

"Malone's always on the outs. He'll be back. Why do you ask?"

"No reason. We just usually get cleaned out by him when we play. I'm glad he's not here!"

_Now what would Batman do? _He surveyed the scene carefully. _I know! He would think of humiliating nicknames for everyone, and then he would take them all out. I should do the same..._

"Alright then, Stinky, Sleazy, Slashful, Dumpy, Gropey, Happy, and Shock, looks like your numbers are up!"

He dropped out of the vent like a cat, landing on the table in the middle of the room.

"Oh shit!"

"It's Mr. Zsasz!"

The men jumped up. Zsasz kicked one in the face and he flew backward.

Everything seemed to move slowly for Zsasz, but to the men he seemed a blur. One man, Dumpy, made a dash for the weapons cache — Zsasz's knife came up and flew through the air, catching the man a mere foot away. He dropped like a stone.

Zsasz leaped at the nearest goon, wrapping both legs around his neck. His weight dragged poor Sleazy down, and Zsasz somersaulted, using the momentum to throw him across the room. Sleazy's head crashed into the wall and he lay still.

"We're as good as dead!"

Everywhere was yelling and chaos. Zsasz already had two knives in his hands, and he came up, slashing Shock across the throat. Stinky had gone for the guns after Dumpy. Zsasz threw one of the blades and it got Stinky in the back. He screamed bloody murder until Zsasz came over, silencing him with one downward thrust. He retrieved his knife and faced the remaining men.

Slashful, Gropey, and Happy put up their dukes, as Zsasz stood between their weapons and them. Gropey tried to run to get backup. Zsasz's blade whistled through the air, and Slashful and Happy actually dodged, letting it go to its intended target. Gropey fell, and before he even hit the ground, Zsasz had buried a knife in Slashful's gut. The man shuddered and gurgled, and Zsasz silenced him by slashing his throat.

Happy was backed into a wall, sobbing. "Please, have mercy!"

Zsasz had none.

He propped up the bodies of the seven goons around the table. Now he could make a full game. As he surveyed his completed scene, he could vaguely see the faces of the card sharks, thugs, princes he had played with... Heavily he picked up the fallen chips and stacked them on the table neatly.

He listened carefully. The Iceberg Lounge was empty.

**-/-/-/-/- ****-/-/-/-/- ****-/-/-/-/- ****-/-/-/-/**

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, INVADED?!" the Penguin squawked.

"I'm telling ya, boss, I heard yells. It sounded like some kinda fight!"

"And you didn't stay to see what was going on, boy?" Penguin cuffed the anxious henchman with his umbrella, and the young man flinched. "Well git your guns and come on!"

Four men followed the Penguin in the direction of the Lounge. Halfway through the hallway, Penguin stopped. "Now you go in, lad, and tell us if the coast is clear. If you're not back in ten seconds, we'll come in blasting."

"Yes, boss!" the man ran for the Lounge.

"You don't think it's the Bat, do you?" another henchman asked nervously.

"If it's the Bat, never you mind, lad. You'll be unconscious at worst; however, if you don't do your duty and defend me, you'll be WORSE THAN DEAD! Do you understand?!"

As the goons waited nervously, Zsasz peered out into the hallway. He slowly began to unscrew the bolts from the vent and then he stepped into the hallway. The Penguin's back was to him. The coward was standing behind his men, letting them face the threat first. How unfortunate for—

"Hey, boss!"

Penguin turned; his returning man had alerted him. He saw Zsasz, and their gazes locked. Hatred sparked.

"ZSASZ!"

"Oh shit!"

"GET HIM!"

The men turned as one, but Zsasz had already slipped forward and was pressing a blade to Oswald Cobblepot's throat.

The Penguin gasped; the men raised their guns. Zsasz had almost a foot on the Penguin and had to crouch down to avoid the goons' line of fire.

"Tell your men to back off, Oswald." Though smooth, there was unmistakeable malice in Zsasz's voice.

"Now wait, don't- don't do anything dramatic! Let's talk about this," the Penguin simpered.

"Talk? Are you going to beg me for your pathetic life, Penguin?" Zsasz's arm tightened around Penguin's throat. "Let's go somewhere more private. We have a _lot_ to talk about apparently."

"No wait-"

"If I were a betting man... and I _am_… I'd tell your men to lay down their arms, right now, and step back. Otherwise, I'd say your chances of remaining alive are… Well, you won't like the odds." The pressure increased on the blade.

"Drop them!" the Penguin yelled frantically. "Drop your weapons!"

The goons looked genuinely conflicted. Finally, reluctantly, they dropped their weapons. But they refused to step back.

"Really? You want to push me, little pigs? You want me to kill your leader in front of you? You do realize that will only hasten your own ends, don't you?"

One of the men blanched. All of them backed away from the weapons and stood against the wall, hands raised.

"Please, Mr. Zsasz..." one of them pleaded. Another had clearly wet his pants.

"You blimey cowards!" the Penguin growled. "After this, I will make sure to kill you personally, you can count on it!"

"It's not wise to show your hand so early, Penguin. Your goons might not be so loyal to you by the time I'm finished. That is, assuming you're still alive." Zsasz slipped passed the men, who were too scared to try anything, and dragged Penguin with him toward the Iceberg Lounge.

"That will do. Now, just stay back, and don't try anything stupid..." Zsasz edged backward through the hallway, opening the door behind them. He saw the goons reach down for their weapons, but too late.

He slammed the door shut behind him.

"Now then..." He walked them onto the catwalk that led to the iceberg. "What shall we talk about? Hmm? Shall we talk about the way you cheated me out of my money all those years ago? No? What about the last time I was here? You showed me a clear lack of hospitality, Oswald. I daresay you owe me compensation."

"If it's money you want—"

"No, not money. I have no use for money; money is meaningless to me. Do you know what would be meaningful for me, Oswald?" He leaned forward when the Penguin didn't answer and pressed the point of his blade right into Penguin's jugular. "I said, do you know what is meaningful to me?"

"No, no I don't! Why don't you tell me?"

"Your blood, Oswald. Nothing is more valuable to me than your blood. Save possibly for your mark."

"So you're going to kill me, then?"

"Kill you...? Hmm... No. Not today. I'm just going to ruin you, just like you ruined me. Look down at your empire, Oswald." He turned the disgusting midget around so he could see his work. Four tables, full of corpses, full of _cards_.

"That's nothing," the Penguin scoffed, but Zsasz could hear the false bravado. "I've a dozen more men in my Armory on their way right now!" As if on cue, the door to the Lounge burst open and they could hear the voices of the men clamoring in.

"A dozen men mean nothing to you. Your life means something to you. Your life is what I hold in my hands. Now, unless you want me to shed your blood all over your icicle, I'd suggest you do as I say."

The Penguin was sweating.

Zsasz leaned closer to his face. The stench of cigar smoke was enough to make the serial killer recoil, but he kept leaning in, hiding himself from the men, buying himself more time and intimidating his old enemy. "I want you to announce to the whole room that you are a lying, cheating bastard."

"What?!"

"Don't you wish now that your men had kept their distance? Then you'd only be making the announcement to me and a room full of corpses. Say it."

"That's outrageous!"

"Pride goeth before a fall, Penguin. If you don't really mean it, then what's the harm? They're just empty words, just like it was empty money you stole from me all those years ago."

"...And if I say it, you'll let me go?"

"Why not try it and see for yourself?"

Oswald Cobblepot paused for so long that Zsasz was sure the strain would kill him.

"Fold now, Penguin… Fold while you can…"

"Boys!" the Penguin called out reluctantly to his men, and their gazes snapped from the serial killer to their boss. "I- er, well, I suppose I haven't been totally honest with you. I, er- well, you see..."

Penguin was sweating. Zsasz was delighted.

"I'm a bit of a... cheating, lying bastard. At least at cards."

The knife jabbed at his jugular.

"And other things too! Like your paychecks, your vacation allotments... Your workman's comp!" The last part came out a squeak; the men stiffened and their only sign of anger was in how they clutched their guns a little tighter. Penguin swallowed nervously. "That's, uh, well, I just wanted you to know that, in case I er, didn't make it out alive... And I'm sorry! And if I survive, you'll all get a raise!" He glared out of the corner of his one good eye at Zsasz. "I bloody well did what you asked, didn't I?!"

"Very good..." Zsasz's blade moved, up to Penguin's face.

"But you said you'd let me go!"

"And so I will. But just in case you think you're getting off easy, I want to leave you with a reminder... You see, I always wished I'd been the one to give you this," his blade tapped the glass of Penguin's "monocle" lightly. "Right now, I am going to give you a little reminder-" the blade settled over Oswald's good cheek, "-of our time together."

And Penguin screamed. The men couldn't do anything to stop it. When Zsasz was finished, a bright bloody "Z" was carved into Penguin's face.

The Penguin fell, clutching his face, and Zsasz kicked him in the back with his big boot. Almost immediately the air was hot as Penguin's men fired above their boss's head, but Zsasz was already gone, doing a backflip over the side of the catwalk and sliding down the iceberg all the way to the floor. Zsasz hightailed it to the exit as the men strained to follow him, trying to draw a bead. Zsasz opened the door and turned back, a wide creepy grin splitting his face. "Oh, and Oswald..." he called back. "Next time, you really must let me deal the cards!"

With that, he ran out into the night, brand new tallymarks bleeding and shining on his shoulders like angel wings.

_**-/-/-/-/-**_


	25. Chapter 24: The Quest, Part 3

TawniBravo: Yes, still alive! :D Though I could use a Lazarus Pit right about now... ;)

Kookachoooie, Chapter Number Two-ey! :D

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**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**-Chapter Twenty-Four: THE QUEST, Part Three-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

**2 am**, the wee hours of Sunday morning. The outside was dark, dark, dark. Inside, a lamp cast shadows and eerie shapes over the wallpaper in the living room.

Danielle paced sleeplessly in front of her large map of Gotham City. She had managed to mark most of the payphones on the map, based on her own inventory. Now there was one more thing…

Zsasz had called her six times, she recalled: four times on her landline, once on her new cell phone, and once on her now-smashed old cell phone. Luckily the last several incoming calls were still present on her caller ID. She scrolled through her landline's record and looked at the numbers again.

One of the calls was from near the Sprang Bridge. No surprise there. It was the first time he had called her after three long years apart. It was the phone call that proved he was still alive. How appropriate that the call should come from the same place he had died.

The next one was a few days later; it was from a number that wasn't on the map. She tried to recall the conversation... He'd been inconsolable, out of his head; it had been while he still had amnesia but after he realized he was missing his marks. Was he somewhere on the streets when he called? She remembered it had been easy enough to hear him, which meant he was probably inside somewhere. _In someone's house, maybe, some poor victim's?_

And then her mind flashed to the boiler room in the steel mill, where he had sequestered her friends. There had been a phone with the wires ripped out… He was distraught enough the day he called that she could imagine him ripping them out. She wouldn't be surprised if the numbers matched.

_I should become a detective like Batman,_ she thought wryly.

The next phone call was the day when she accused him of being the Note Writer. The number had come from Park Row, from the booth very close to the Baudelaire.

The next call had been from Cindy's phone, she remembered with a shiver. There was no record of it, and there didn't need to be. It was when Zsasz had held her friends captive.

The one after that was yet again from the booth near the Baudelaire. It was the conversation they'd had when she had laid out the ground rules for him… and he had agreed to them. _Their game was on._

The next one was near the playground, his first and only call to her new cell phone, when she had seen him wrapped in bandages. When he had threatened to murder the children.

A shudder ran down her spine. He was a _monster_. Sure, he didn't want to kill her, but he thought nothing of threatening to slaughter innocent children. Her fist clenched.

_I'll drag you back to Arkham myself!_

And then the final number, the one from earlier tonight, near her old hideout. "So he seems to favor Old Gotham," she mused softly to herself.

BRIIIING!

"Gah!" Danielle nearly jumped out of her skin. She had been so lost in musing – about the phone, no less – that the ringing of the phone made her feel edgier than usual. Then she frowned. _Who would be calling me at this hour? Did something bad happen? _ Her pulse quickened as she picked up. "Hello?"

"My dearest Danielle."

"Zsasz," her words came out half a breathy sigh of relief, half giddy with anticipation. "You called."

"Of course," his sinister voice crooned back. "You didn't think I had forgotten about my Alive Girl, did you? I could _never_ forget you."

"I'm almost flattered."

"So cynical, aren't you? Unable to take even a small compliment from your would-be suitor, would-be murderer. Well, I guess it would depend on whether I'm in my head at the moment, wouldn't it?" He laughed gaily, almost carefreely. It set her nerves on edge. He hadn't talked about killing her in a long time, not even as a joke…

"You're not hearing any voices, are you?" she asked lightly.

"Of course not, Dani dearest," he replied. "They're gone, remember? Don't you worry your pretty little head about mine; I couldn't be better! I just called to see if you were awake. I have a proposal for you."

"And what's that, Zsasz?"

"I want to see you. Tomorrow."

"Where?"

"Never you mind where. Just be at Gotham Square, phone in hand, and I will tell you where to meet me."

"It's a surprise?"

"I just don't want anyone following you. It would be a shame if that pesky Batman interrupted our alone time together, wouldn't it? He did that well enough last week."

"Oh, don't hate Batman so much, Zsasz," she said lightly. "He _did_ take out those ninja who were trying to capture you. You could even say he saved you from them."

"I can take care of myself," Zsasz's voice turned cold. "Do let me know if you're unable to show up tomorrow. I wouldn't want to think you're going back on our deal, after all. If you ignore me again… That old woman won't know what hit her."

Danielle gritted her teeth against the sudden icy jolt of fear. "I'll be there, Zsasz. You don't have to doubt me."

"I won't, Danielle. As soon as you prove yourself…" so softly she barely heard him, "I'll never have to doubt you again."

"So was that it?" she tried to sound impassive. "If there's nothing else, then I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you then." He hung up abruptly, leaving a ringing silence in his wake.

Exhaling slowly, Danielle put down the phone and then, out of new habit, checked caller ID. _555-2752._

The phone booth near the Baudelaire.

She smiled. "Or how about tonight?"

* * *

It was cold when she arrived at the phone booth, stepping out of the shiny warm yellow cab. The street had a thin layer of ice on it, no doubt from the night's chill. Her boots thumped lightly as she walked closer to the phone booth.

It didn't look out of the ordinary, of course. But the knowledge that Zsasz had been there not ten minutes before made the hairs on her arms stand up.

_Where was he now?_

She thought about it. Zsasz was a nocturnal person. She knew this from experience. His "best" times of the day to hunt and kill were at night, under the cover of darkness – like most criminals in this godforsaken place. So where would he be now, at 2:15 in the morning?

Hunting and killing, of course. Meaning he was probably still close by.

Had he already found a victim? The thought made her sick. She had to walk around, see if she saw or heard anything. If it gave her a shot at catching him, she had to try.

The baseball bat thumped comfortingly against her thighs.

She walked up the dark street toward the Monarch Theatre. She passed a sign for Live Nudes on the way and cocked her head. _No..._ Zsasz wasn't the type to go in a strip club. He was probably hunting on the streets or already in someone's residence.

She heard a scream suddenly. It was very faint, but unmistakeable. There! She spun. It had come from this alleyway over here… A very familiar alley, actually. She had fought a thug for his brass knuckles here once…

Danielle slipped into the alley, bat raised in both hands. There was a woman's voice, pleading. A man's voice, rough and demanding. Not Zsasz.

She narrowed her eyes. The man was telling the girl to take off her jacket. Danielle felt sick.

She edged around the corner, keeping close to the wall. Then she saw them. The girl, in her early twenties, scared and backed up, the man with the silver knife pointing at her. The man was easily twice her size. Cold fury washed over Danielle.

The girl's eyes widened. The thug turned to see what was behind him, and Danielle took him out in a single hit.

The thug crashed to the pavement, lump huge on his head. Danielle didn't know or care if he was dead then (she was sure he wasn't). She would _not_ tolerate this happening to anyone else, not if she was around.

Her eyes softened as the girl tearfully came closer to her.

"Y-you saved me," the girl sobbed brokenly. "He-he was- gonna-"

"I know what he was going to do," Danielle said gently. "Did he hurt you physically? Do you need a hospital?"

"No," the girl whispered. "I was so scared. I thought he was gonna rape me and kill me. He was, wasn't he?"

"He's not going to harm you ever again. I'm going to calling the police right now."

"Thank you. How did you do that?" the young woman looked at Danielle in astonishment.

"I'm a self-defense teacher. I teach at the Gotham General Hospital."

"You do? Do you go around the streets at night beating up criminals?"

Danielle laughed a little. "No, that's Batman. I just happened to be nearby. Hey look, if you need a safe space to talk about what just happened, you should come to my self-defense class… My name's Danielle Lee. You're not alone-"

"Priscilla Edwards. I'd love to." The girl shivered, clutching her arms against her chest. "C-can I go? Please, I don't want to be near him." She gazed apprehensively at the man on the ground.

"It's not safe…" Danielle protested as the girl turned away, despite her words. "You should wait until the police come. We should stay together-"

"Thank you for everything." The girl began to walk toward the alleyway entrance anyway. Danielle looked down at the attacker. It didn't look like he'd be regaining consciousness anytime soon.

_"Oh my God!"_

"Good evening, Danielle."

Ice froze in Danielle's veins. _Zsasz._ She turned.

Zsasz stood in the entrance to the alleyway. He had the girl she had just rescued in his wiry arms, and he was holding a knife to her throat.

* * *

"Now what is my Alive Girl doing out at this hour?" Zsasz casually brushed the hostage's bangs out of her eyes with his knife, relishing the fury that mounted on Danielle's face. "And who is her darling little friend?"

"Let her go, Zsasz!"

"But Danielle… Don't you remember? The deal was to leave alone your three pathetic friends. I never agreed to cease killing altogether. And this piggy would make a perfect sacrifice…"

"Who are you?!" the girl yelped. "Please, let me go! I'm not a part of this!"

"You're a part of this world though, aren't you?" Zsasz crooned, almost soothingly, as if speaking to a small child. "If you're a part of this world, then you're a part of my mission. And my mission is to liberate… everyone." He glared suddenly. "If the so-called Batter here wouldn't keep interrupting my kills, that is."

"I don't even know her-!"

"Now is that any way to show gratitude towards your savior, Priscilla?" Zsasz said mockingly. "I heard her rescue you from that boor on the pavement." He nodded at the unconscious thug. "Rather a nasty fate he had in store for you, wasn't it? Don't worry, mine will be much more merciful—!"

The hostage's talking had worked too well. It had distracted him. The next thing Zsasz knew, he felt a tremendous grip upon the hand that held the knife, prying it away from the girl's neck— "Go! _Run!_", and then his arms were empty, and Danielle was body-slamming him, crashing both of them into the brick wall.

The hostage had escaped. He could hear her loud breathing as she fled. And now it was just Danielle and him in the alleyway, and she was head-butting him. Stars danced behind his eyes and his free hand darted up, catching her under the chin. He heard her gasp of pain. But she hadn't let him go.

The knife came up, despite her hold. She moved in time, using his own momentum against him to pull his hand backward over his shoulder. He lost his balance. Danielle moved to pin him, and he struck at her, second knife already drawn in his other hand. Blood dripped from her forearm. Once again, she had underestimated his speed.

"Do you care so much about her random life, Danielle?" he asked as he rolled away and spun to his feet. "Or are you just jealous that I held her so closely to me?"

"Jealous? That you like to be creepy and intimidate your victims right before you kill them? Not a chance!" she spat as she picked up her baseball bat from where it had fallen.

He raised his knives, and she readied her bat. They faced off.

"Aaah, so you are jealous! You had a death wish once. You asked me to kill you, right before I died. Do you remember?" His voice became almost coy. "I wonder if you wish for it still..."

Danielle was edging back and forth, looking for openings. Energy surged between them. If she attacked him head on, she would be leaving herself open to him. And with knives in both hands, he'd probably cut her up the first opening she gave him.

"Why didn't you kill yourself while I was gone?" Zsasz's eyes looked into hers hypnotically. "It would have hurt me deeply, yes, but I would have moved on eventually." Without warning, he struck! Danielle moved out of the way as he charged her. She clubbed at his unprotected back with her bat, but he spun around with surreal speed, attacking her face and neck with his blades. It was all she could do to block him.

Something was not right. Even when he threatened her, Zsasz's voice usually held a certain playfulness when he was talking to Danielle. And yet now, there was barely veiled malice in his words.

"Instead you stayed alive and remained here. In your endless loop, prolonging _my_ misery!"

"What?!" Danielle just barely dodged his knives again, slipping on a piece of garbage and slamming backward into a brick wall. Her heart hammered as she realized that he might actually want to kill her this time.

"If it hadn't been for you, I would not have remained in that man's captivity for so long! I would have escaped so much sooner. I wouldn't be suffering nightmares and waking memories every moment from the torture he put me through!"

Zsasz stabbed at her. The blade struck the wall in the spot she'd just been. He jabbed with the other hand, and she twisted away again.

"Zsasz-"

"It's _your_ fault! You make me feel things I should never feel. You're the one who keeps me connected to my _wretched_ humanity! You make me soft. You make me weak. I HATE WHAT YOU DO TO ME, DANIELLE!"

She swung with the bat. He blocked her, backhanded her, hitting her face with the butt of his knife. She raised her hand to block and he pinned her arm against the wall with the blade, forcing her to drop her bat. Blood trickled down her arm.

They were gasping, face to face. Danielle struggled to free herself.

He drove the second knife into her.

"AAAAAAAHHHHH!"

Blood splattered him—

.

.

.

There was a snag in Rā's plan. Zsasz almost smirked when he found out. So the old man, in all his arrogance, still made mistakes it seemed.

This particular mistake had happened in the small village they had freed from the bandits, the one now growing their engineered crops. A child had eaten one of the apples from the altered orchard. He was only supposed to be picking them for the scientists, but apparently his hunger had gotten the better of him, or the apples, with their hypnotic autumn sheen, had just looked so tasty… The child got sick and died horribly, within hours. The villagers were now convinced that Rā's practiced witchcraft. At very least, he had brought poison into their land, into their homes, and after everything they had endured from their former bandit masters, they refused to tolerate such an assault ever again. It didn't take long for a revolt to form. Pitchforks raised, they talked in loud voices, not bothering to conceal their plans. Rā's learned of it immediately.

He sent Zsasz to put them down.

Grudgingly, for he had not forgotten the bitter pain of his latest Lazarus resurrection, Zsasz complied.

He walked through the dust, knives at his side. He wasn't doing this for Rā's, he told himself. It felt good to roam. As long as he did what Rā's said, he could go outside the cage. He could have his freedom…

Freedom…

For the hundredth time, he remembered that if he were really free, he would go home to Gotham. Home to Danielle. No, he wasn't free. He was a bird with clipped wings.

A shot down plane.

But he could give these people their salvation. Yes. He could still liberate them.

And yet it was a hollow sort of walk to the small town.

No doubt the victims were in the barn or somewhere with a large meeting area. Perhaps their temple of worship. What good could their faith do against him and the dozen trained ninjas who followed at a reasonable pace, awaiting his signal?

He stopped.

Apparently not everyone was at the meeting.

In front of him stood the young woman he had first seen when he entered the village months ago. Her honey gold eyes shining in her dark face.

She had a boy in her arms. He looked at Zsasz, and his eyes were the most alarming shade of green.

And Zsasz couldn't move.

They were so beautiful. If he squinted even a little, he could pretend it was Danielle with – their son, maybe? The way he had always imagined, the cold nights in Rā's cell, where he pretended he'd chosen a future with her instead of continued on his murderous crusade.

The woman blinked at him. The look in her eyes hadn't changed. In spite of the seriousness of her village's predicament, she still had the carefreeness, that warmth in her gaze. As if, in another life, they were not strangers.

Zsasz stood for the longest moment, and they stared back, and he realized, for the second time in his life – _he didn't want to kill_. He wanted to let them go.

The ninjas were waiting for him. He knew this. His hands began to tremble, and suddenly he was biting back tears. He had to do this. He had to—

The blade moved.

The silent scream slipped out of the woman's lips as a gasp. Her child moaned as the blade cut him as well. Their bodies slumped in the dirt.

Zsasz looked up at the heavens. There was something in his eyes. When he wiped them, his arm came away red.

.

.

.

The blade was still red and slick with blood. Zsasz blinked. The knife was still in his own hand. A body was lying in front of him, a dark puddle spreading out underneath and staining the ground even darker.

Dread filled him suddenly. _Who was it? _He bent forward—

Danielle lay on the pavement in a pool of blood, unmovingly.

Zsasz fell to his knees. His Alive Girl—She was—_He had—_

Zsasz's anguished scream tore through the night.

Danielle lay on the ground, staring up at the dirty buildings. All she was aware of was the terrible, all-consuming pain, the burning agony right in her center. And the darkness. There was a darkness that went even deeper than the night, and it was growing rapidly. She felt her body shudder. Was she dying? Was this what dying felt like?

From far away, she could hear something. It sounded like wailing. Was she screaming? Was-?

Danielle felt hands lift her tenderly, despite the terrible pain that tore through her. Someone picked her up and cradled her. _Zsasz._ She could see his blue eyes, staring intensely into hers. _You've won,_ she wanted to whisper, but her lips wouldn't move.

The darkness was spinning faster now.

Just before she blacked out, Danielle heard the far off sound again, and she could have sworn that it was Zsasz, sobbing.

**_-/-/-/-/-_**


	26. Chapter 25: Remorse

Hi everyone, I am sorry for taking so long to update. Thank you all for the reviews. :)

Loved, loved, loved _Batman: __Arkham Knight_! Since I began writing this before it came out, my story sadly doesn't match its continuity, but I might make references. On another note, my jaw dropped open when I saw a 'Salvation Bridge' on the map! (and a Firefighter Daniell - yes, spelled that way - and the particular items in the police evidence locker, and the reference to Zsasz and blood loss...) :D Coincidences? LOL probably. But they thrilled me anyway. ;)

**-0-**

**Redemption, Restitution, &amp; Resurrection**

**Chapter Twenty-Five: REMORSE**

**-/-/-/-/-**

The screaming was gone now.

Danielle lay silent and still in his arms. Her body was limp, her blood dripping from her stomach and pooling on the back of her body before falling to the pavement. _Pat! Pat! Pat!_

And yet he couldn't take his eyes off her face. Her own eyes were closed, but she didn't look peaceful. Her face, flushed from fighting him, was rapidly growing paler.

_How could he have done this? How could this really be happening?_

When Danielle's face blurred, Zsasz realized he was crying.

The only person he had ever loved was bleeding out in his arms – and _he _had done this.

For a second, it felt like he was flying. Then he realized that his body had moved on its own, and he was racing through the streets of Gotham, clutching Danielle's body to his chest. He didn't want to think about the torn tissues gushing in between them, from the hole he had cut in Danielle. He pressed her more tightly to himself, trying to stanch the bleeding.

She didn't weigh an ounce. Was it the adrenaline coursing through him that made her seem so weightless? Or had her spirit already left her body? He clutched her tighter and kept running, begging his Alive Girl not to leave him, to hold on and fight just a little longer...

He knew where he had to take her. He just hoped it wasn't too late.

* * *

_BANG! BANG! BANG! _

"Dr. Thompkins! Dr. Thompkins!"

The good doctor was in a dead sleep when the pounding started. Years of odd shifts and patients in need had left her a light sleeper, and she startled awake at once. Putting on a robe, she hurried to the front door of her clinic and threw it open.

Mr. Zsasz stood on her front porch, his face wild. A young woman lay unconscious in his arms.

Dr. Thompkins was taken aback by the raw emotion on Zsasz's face. His gaunt cheeks were flushed, his hollow eyes wide and sorrowful. It looked like he had been crying.

Zsasz looked at Leslie pleadingly. "Please, Dr. Thompkins—"

"You must be in very dire straits to come here, Mr. Zsasz," Leslie said quietly, even as her eyes ran over the young woman. "You were banned from here—"

"I don't care, please, just save her!" Zsasz held out the young woman in his arms. Her head lolled on his arm. Leslie could see how pale she was, and she could smell the blood thick in the air. As her eyes adjusted to the night, Leslie saw that Zsasz's shirt was covered with blood.

"Where was she injured?" she asked hurriedly as she ushered Zsasz inside.

"Her stomach. Stabbed."

Zsasz laid the woman on a table, and only then did Leslie finally see the wound. She grabbed the scissors, cutting through the bloody clothes, and pressed a compress over the wound.

"Hold this!" she ordered Zsasz. "I am going to get my supplies. At this rate, she might not make it!" She disappeared and a split second later she was back with what she needed.

"I need you to stay outside. I'll let you know when you can come back in." Without another word, she began to work on Danielle. Zsasz opened his mouth, about to say something, but quickly realized that the doctor would work better if he didn't distract her. His heart in his throat, Zsasz went to the hallway, closed the doors and sat, head in hands, waiting to hear the fate of his beloved.

* * *

"You can come in now," Leslie's tired voice sounded from the doorway.

Zsasz started from his light slumber. He glanced at the clock in the foyer; was it really the next morning already? Quickly, he stood up and followed Dr. Thompkins into her treatment room.

He approached the bedside tentatively. Danielle looked so pale lying there. "Is she-"

"She is alive," Dr. Thompkins reassured him. "Though just barely. She will need another blood transfusion soon. I was able to clean out the wound and sew it shut, but—" She broke off in astonishment. Zsasz was holding out his arm to her.

"Please, if you need a transfusion for her, take my blood."

Leslie narrowed her eyes at him. "Mr. Zsasz, come this way. Sit down, we need to have a word."

Zsasz followed reluctantly, unable to take his eyes off Danielle. She looked so fragile! His heart clenched. He was _such_ a bastard. Not for the first time in the last few hours, he wished he had stabbed himself instead of her.

"Now," Leslie's sharp tone commanded his attention back, "as you know, you were banned from here some time ago due to your fighting with Waylon Jones. I took a big risk letting you in here tonight, but I am not so certain you can stay here. If word gets out to the other patients that you're here—"

"Dr. Thompkins, I'm-" _Say it! For her!_ "I am sorry that I fought here before. And I apologize especially for attacking you that time. That was wrong of me." Zsasz hung his head.

Leslie's eyes softened, though he couldn't see it. "If I may ask, what has happened to change you so much? It is unlike you, Mr. Zsasz, to bring someone here for treatment." _To care so much about someone's life that you wish to save it._ "Who is this young woman?"

"Her name is Danielle Lee. She's—well, she's somewhat of a friend. If she could ever forgive me after this," he muttered to himself.

Leslie glanced towards the unconscious woman. "So you mean that stab wound—"

"I inflicted it, yes." Zsasz's fists clenched. He looked near tears again. "I have made the worst mistake in my whole life."

"I should say so," Dr. Thompkins replied with a sharp look. Suddenly, her eyes widened. "Danielle Lee, did you say-?"

"Yes. Dr. Thompkins?"

Leslie's mouth was hanging open. _She came to see me before. I thought she seemed familiar!_ Quickly catching herself, the doctor refocused on Zsasz.

"You will need to leave. But I will give you updates on her condition, if you wish. Come to visit once per day, and come in strictly through the foyer. Preferably later at night. We will need to be careful not to alarm the other patients. Do you understand?"

Zsasz looked so lost suddenly. It was clear he did not want to leave her side.

Leslie sighed. "You want her to get better, don't you? I will do everything possible. As a doctor, it is my duty."

"At least take my blood before I go," Zsasz finally murmured. "In case she needs it."

Dr. Thompkins drew his blood soon afterward. She would need to test it for diseases and record his blood type before administering it. As he left, Zsasz stole one last look at Danielle.

Again, his body seemed to move on its own. Before he knew it, Zsasz was leaning over her, planting a tender kiss on her forehead. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. Her eyelids moved, though she didn't wake.

Straightening up, aware that Dr. Thompkins was standing shocked in the doorway, he said, "I leave her in your capable hands." The door clicked softly behind him.

* * *

In an alleyway outside Dr. Thompkins' clinic, Zsasz slumped onto a stoop, heart pounding. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got.

_Who does Dr. Thompkins think she is, denying me?! I should be in there by Danielle's side, day and night, until she regains consciousness! Only Danielle can deny me the right to be near her!_

He stood up. The blood was sudden and hot in his veins.

"Sitting here is pointless!" he seethed. "It will not bring her back to health, and since I cannot be at her side, it could well be a ploy!" His mood grew fouler as he paced the streets, lost in thought. "Dr. Thompkins knows her! She could be plotting to take her away from me!" He cursed low, running his hands over his head.

_All that business about only seeing her once a day is nonsense. While I'm away, she'll take Danielle to a safe house where I'll never find her, and when I come to the clinic, she'll be gone. If Dr. Thompkins dares to try this... I'll kill her!_

Vaguely he registered other people. He was on a more crowded street, so distracted was he by his own musings that he hadn't noticed until now. A couple walked in front of him, all giggles. The woman leaned close to the man, her lips very close to his ear. Zsasz's heart dropped. That could have been-

No. No, it couldn't have been. He had been a murderer before he met Danielle. When he chose that life, he had given up every hope of walking down the street like an ordinary person, ever again. He wasn't ordinary, was why. He could accept that reality about himself.

...But to never be in that kind of sweet ordinary reality with Danielle? To never walk in the light with her? Were they doomed to always fight each other? Was this ending - her on the operating table, barely clinging to life, he banned from seeing her - the only way...? His heart squeezed in his chest, and he realized he was once again near tears.

The man ahead of him said something. He was still following the couple, he realized.

The woman had pulled the man into an alcove. They leaned against each other, intimately close, the man's hands fumbling inside the woman's winter coat. She brought his hands out of her folds briefly to kiss his fingers. And Zsasz saw a dim glinting. Of course. They were a happily married couple out for an evening stroll, the way he would never be-

Except- Zsasz realized- they weren't married. When he squinted, he could see that the glint was coming from the _man's_ ring finger, yet the woman's was bare.

Fury ignited in him. In an instant he was beside the adulterous couple, and he had his knife-

_-Danielle was on the end of it, writhing in agony, a sharp scream rising from her throat-_

Her blood was still on the handle and blade.

Zsasz nearly dropped the knife, sick. He stumbled back into the shadows. The couple hadn't seen him, so wrapped up were they in each other.

_What am I doing? Not even a day after I stabbed her-_

Zsasz sank to his knees and vomited. Tears ran down his face. No matter how he tried to stop them, they kept coming. Finally, no longer caring whether the couple saw him or not, he allowed the grief to overtake him.

* * *

Leslie looked up at the soft knock of the door. She went to open it, and Zsasz stepped inside wordlessly. There was an air about him; he bowed his head respectfully and kept his eyes steadily on the doors to the treatment room.

"She is unconscious," Dr. Thompkins told him. "You can sit with her if you'd like. Speak in a soft voice only."

Zsasz nodded and stepped quickly up to the bed.

Danielle looked so small lying there in the bed. Her normally tan skin was so pale. Her hair hadn't been managed; it was still messy from their fight. Zsasz guessed the good doctor had bigger worries than her hair.

He traced a finger softly down her face, over the scars he had given her. _Fours years later, and he was still hurting her,_ he realized. When she didn't react, when she remained still and silent, his face crumpled. He hadn't quite recovered from his crying spell earlier.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. _If only she could hear him._ Zsasz continued to whisper in hopes that she could.

"I never got to tell you just how much I admire you, Danielle. What a woman you have become." He continued to stroke her face. "If you ever recover from this, I just want you to..." He went silent. What could he say? What did it matter what he wanted?

He sat there for the longest moment, staring down at her, wishing so much she was staring back. He wanted to see the fire in her earth-brown eyes. Even if it was born of contempt. He wanted to see the smile she got on her face every time she held her baseball bat. Her bat was precious to her - vaguely he realized that he'd left it in the alleyway. Should he go back for it?

No. Now wasn't the time to be thinking about her baseball bat.

Danielle's hands were beneath the blanket covering her. He wanted to reach under and hold her, entwine her delicate fingers in his own.

"Is there anything you need, Mr. Zsasz?" Leslie had come to stand next to him.

Zsasz swallowed; his throat was so dry. "Could you get me a brush, please?"

He brushed her hair as though he were brushing fine silk. Slowly he sorted the tangles out, and the dried blood. When he finished, her long thick hair haloed her pale face. She looked beautiful.

He wanted to stay with her forever.

Dr. Thompkins gave him a few more minutes, before quietly ushering him out. When he left, Zsasz found he could not move from the clinic's doors. He stood in the glow of the streetlight, aching to be by her side again.

Only the thought of retrieving her baseball bat for her made him move.

* * *

Dr. Thompkins believed the girl would make it.

She was showing signs of stability, though she would need to be carefully monitored. Her health could easily go the other way if the healing was stalled. Dr. Thompkins' biggest concern was an infection. The wound was deep. Though she had stitched it shut, if the areas were infected at all, it could attack Ms. Lee's internal organs, get into her bloodstream.

A few more days of stability, though, and her body would begin to bounce back and heal itself. In the meantime... intravenous fluids, wound checks, blood transfers, the usual concerns with her other patients...

And Mr. Zsasz. He came again the following night, Danielle Lee's second night of care. Once again, he sat for a long time, staring into her face, sometimes stroking her cheek. Again he brushed her hair. And once again, Leslie Thompkins found herself watching him from beyond the shadows of the next room.

This was not the Victor Zsasz she knew. The man she had met many years before would have hesitated only a moment before cutting her down, and only out of surprise: she had refused to defend herself, she remembered, no matter how much she had wished that someone else would kill him right then. The thoughts had shamed her when she'd had them. Zsasz had shown her no mercy. And then Waylon Jones of all people had stepped in and saved her. Not out of a sense of protectiveness, but rather revenge; Zsasz had killed his only friend.

What could have possibly happened to change Mr. Zsasz so much from the monster he was back then?

Leslie watched Zsasz untangle Danielle's hair, and her mind drifted to Danielle.

The young woman had come to her to ensure she wasn't STD positive or pregnant, she recalled, three-and-a-half years ago. But her request did not speak nearly as loudly as the physical state of her body. Wounds everywhere. An injured nose. Dr. Thompkins had offered to do a sexual assault kit, but the girl had declined. In spite of her overwhelming desire to know, Dr. Thompkins had respected her patient's wishes and not done one. But she had wondered - who had harmed her?

And now she wondered, watching them, if Zsasz had been in this young woman's life even then.

If that were the case, then no, true love hadn't redeemed him back then. If it had, then he would never have stabbed this girl. No, something else had changed him. And in spite of her desire to know what, she wouldn't ask. Instead she would watch how he looked at her patient, with all the tenderness in the world, and remember how he had apologized to Leslie personally and _sincerely _for what he had once done.

* * *

Hours later, she ushered Zsasz out. She'd given him extra time tonight, so entranced was she in watching him with her patient. He had whispered to her, and though she hadn't heard what he'd said, she'd seen the telltale moistening of his eyes, the way he clutched her hand tighter. Was he promising to be better? Was he apologizing to her? Leslie imagined a bit of both.

The girl had shown no change, though her cheeks were slightly sunken. Leslie had given her intravenous fluid, another full body check, and noted to herself that the girl might need another blood transfusion the next day. Zsasz's blood was a type O, the universal donor, while Danielle's was type AB. Perhaps she would ask him for another donation, though with how malnourished he was, she might need to make sure he ate first. She went to bed planning this.

But it was not to be.

When Leslie came in the next morning to check on her patient, she got the shock of her life.

Danielle Lee was gone!

Dr. Thompkins looked around for her patient. Had she woken up? Taken a tumble somewhere?

The I.V. needles were neatly placed on the bed - _someone had taken them out._

Frantically she went to the front of the ward, out into the street. No one was there. But her front door was unlocked. Leslie was very careful; she knew she would never have left it unlocked. There was a hairpin lying on the ground just outside her door.

Her heart pounding, she realized it was more likely that someone had_ taken_ her patient, rather than Danielle Lee leaving of her own accord.

She had turned back to the treatment room, ready to call the police, when she finally noticed the crisp white note, lying on the ground near the patient's bed.

She picked it up. It must have fallen off the bed. What was written temporarily calmed her. In neat script was a simple phrase: _"Thank you. ~V.Z."_

Leslie clutched the note to her chest, her fears mounting again. Danielle still needed a blood transfusion, and without the I.V.s, her body might not take in enough fluids, and she could...

Leslie sat down heavily next to the bed. _That fool!_ He had taken her, and she had no idea where! If Zsasz didn't want them to be found, they wouldn't be. True, it seemed that Zsasz cared about the girl, but her patient was still very weak. She could easily die in Zsasz's care!

Without knowing where they had gone, the doctor could only hope that he would look after her properly.

* * *

_A voice calls in the darkness._

_Surrounded by night, she can only wade through the pool of blackness, shivering, searching for a way out._

_The call sounds again, all warmth and no light._

_And yet she __reaches out for it-_

* * *

White walls.

Warmth.

The faint smell of rice and jasmine tea.

Zsasz could not remember the last time he had been someplace so _clean_.

He stood in the middle of the apartment, eyes closed, savoring the sound of the fog dripping against the windows. The glass pinged slightly as the wind beat against it, but he was safe in here. _They _were safe in here.

He did not need to open his eyes. The apartment was dark. The ambient light from outside was more than enough, and there was a coziness here... Like the soothing warmth inside the womb, a sanctuary. A veil between them and the outside world.

This was her home. Here was where his Alive Girl lived.

He had learned where her apartment was from her ID, which he had found in her jacket pocket. Of course it was different from her last home, though every bit as nice. Then again, for Zsasz - who had spent weeks living in sewers and dilapidated buildings, and before that, for two long years, rotting in a cage in a hole in Rā's lair - either one of Danielle's apartments seemed like _paradise_.

He felt unworthy of being in here.

He went to her pristine kitchen sink and washed his hands carefully with her lavender soap, savoring the luxury of clean running water. If he had time, if it seemed appropriate, he would much love to take a proper shower.

But there were more important things to do.

The bedroom door creaked slightly as he entered. It was a simple space, just a bed, a dresser, and a door in the corner leading to the bathroom. There were no windows in here, though she kept a lamp next to her bed, and the room was suitably dim. His eyes lingered on the bed. What he wouldn't give to lay there, feel the softness of the pure white sheets, the warmth of the down comforter. He could fall asleep and not wake for hours.

But the bed was occupied. Zsasz's eyes softened as he gazed down at Danielle, tucked safely into the large bed, blankets drawn up to her chin.

Her face was blank, her black eyelashes dusting her cheeks as she slept. Zsasz knelt beside her. She hadn't woken up yet. From the time he had stabbed her to now, it had been two and a half days, and she was yet to wake.

Zsasz felt his anxiety bloom as he contemplated the likelihood of her not waking up.

He had stabbed her in a vital place. Dr. Thompkins had sewn organs back together from the damage he had done. He had never thought about it before, all the damage a single stab could do, and he used to relish stabbing people for hours... _hours_, tearing them apart, one inch, one organ at a time, until they perished-

No! He pushed the thoughts out of his head. She _would_ wake up! He wouldn't believe otherwise!

Dr. Thompkins was the best doctor he knew. She had saved his own life before. She had saved so many... Certainly she hadn't failed with Danielle! Though as he thought it, a small doubt crept in: if he was so sure of Dr. Thompkins' abilities, then why had he stolen Danielle from under her watch?

He stood up, hurried to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Using a washcloth, he dabbed it on her lips and around the edges of her mouth. Too much, and she might choke to death. But too little...

"Please wake up soon, Danielle."

* * *

Six hours later, and she still had not woken.

It was still light out behind the curtains of fog, but Zsasz could feel the afternoon winding down and night approaching. He could feel the darkness closing in once again.

Zsasz slumped beside her bed. Her skin was moist enough, and yet she wasn't getting better. He closed his eyes, reaching around and, by sheer recollection, taking her hand from under the covers. He stroked her fingers slowly, deftly.

With every moment that passed, he regretted taking her from Dr. Thompkins' clinic.

_Why was I so stupid? Didn't the doctor say I needed to let her do her job, if I wanted Danielle to recover?_

_But I couldn't leave her there! _Another part of him argued. _Dr. Thompkins would have taken her from me! And... and I cannot let her go until-_

_Until what? Until you apologize? Make amends? There is no way of making amends for this._

_I know that! _he snapped at himself. _ But Danielle deserves to know- that-_

_What? Your pity story? Danielle doesn't need to pity you. You should pity her for what you've done to her._

The hand he was holding twitched suddenly.

* * *

_Softness all around. Safety._

Danielle awoke suddenly. Her eyes remained shut, but she returned to herself with a jolt, as if she had been somewhere far, far away. She tried to open her eyes; her body felt strange and heavy.

_Where am I?_

She could hear the faint ticking of a clock. The beat sounded soothing and familiar.

"Ungh…" she let out a soft groan. Her side ached, but the sensation was strangely distant. She tried to sit up.

"AARGH!" Pain shot through her like a knife. She lay back down immediately, gasping. It had come from her right abdomen- and now she remembered-

"Danielle..."

_That voice! _Ignoring the pain, Danielle shot straight up in bed. She wasn't alone.

She was face-to-face with Zsasz!

* * *

He expected her to fight. He didn't want her to, but it was the response that made the most sense from her.

Her eyes widened; he could see her pupils dilating. To Zsasz's surprise, she shrank back against the headboard with a dull _thump_, raising a trembling hand in front of herself. The other hand darted around under the covers.

She looked _terrified._

"Danielle, please... I'm not here to hurt you." He looked at her eagerly; she turned her face away as if burned.

"You're at home." His voice softened. "You're safe." He reached for her, to comfort her, and she pulled away even further.

He stopped and took a deep breath, reigning himself in. "I know you're scared. I know you have every right to be." Danielle wouldn't look at him. Her skin was clammy and even paler than before. He knelt beside the bed so that she was above him and held his hands out to her, palms up. "I'm not here to hurt you," he repeated. "I'm here to look after you."

Danielle was sucking in breaths of air. It pained him to see how much effort it took her.

"You have been asleep for almost three days. I'm so thankful you're awake." He took a deep breath. "I took you to Leslie Thompkins' clinic. She saved you. You came so close to dying-" And here, his throat closed and he found it hard to continue.

Finally Danielle seemed to calm down, or at least regain control of herself. She looked at him now, almost expectantly.

"I- I did a terrible thing to you," he admitted. The confession came out so suddenly, so naturally, that it almost startled him. "You're badly injured," he continued. "You need to rest until you're recovered."

Danielle's lips parted. He noticed how dry they were.

"Zs- Wh-" She coughed. "Wh-ere-?"

"Hold on," Zsasz interrupted. "Let me get you some water! You need to drink something!" Eagerly he darted out of the room.

When he came back, glass in hand, he was quickly alarmed. Danielle had listed over to one side, her head dangling limply.

Zsasz nearly dropped the water in his haste to get to her. But she heard his approaching footsteps and sat up properly, though her eyes swam as she righted herself. Then she was alert again, scrutinizing him as he stood beside her.

He noticed she seemed to be searching for something; her hands were moving next to the bed again. He held out the glass.

"Your water-"

The look she gave him was furtive, wary.

"It's not poisoned. Here, see?" He sipped some of the water for effect.

She stared for a long moment before nodding. Her hands had not stopped moving.

"What're you-" And then it registered. He knew suddenly, intuitively, what she was searching for.

"It is in the sink," he said abruptly. Danielle's hands stopped moving and she regarded him curiously. "Your baseball bat... It _is_ what you were searching for, right?"

He saw astonishment plainly on her face.

"I am soaking it in bleach presently. I had to return for it, and the alley we fought in- it wasn't very clean. I don't want you touching something so unclean." He knew he was rambling. "When I am finished sanitizing it, you can have it back."

Her fingers plucked at the blanket restlessly.

"I will give it back. I know how much safer you feel with it, that is why. I want you to feel safe again... more than anything. Please, trust me, Danielle..."

But those had been the wrong words to say.

Zsasz's breath caught in his throat. He looked at Danielle, and he might have been imagining it, but he swore he saw a glint of bitterness in her eyes.

_'Trust me.'_

"...How can you possibly trust me," he murmured, "when I nearly _killed_ you three days ago?"

He turned away abruptly.

"I am a fool, Danielle. I nearly lost the person who means the most to me, and I did it by my own hand!" Suddenly, his eyes were stinging. He wanted nothing more than to whirl around, to hold her hand in his and take her in his arms-

"I am a serial killer, an unrepentant homicidal maniac. There is nothing I can ever say or do to make up for what I have done to you. I have no right to be in your life." _What delusions did I ever have that we could be something more?_ "Look at what I am! Look at me!" And now, how could he be so selfish to demand for her to look at him, when he couldn't even face her himself. He turned painfully. "What kind of monster am I?"

He could see the fine shudders all over her body. It was clear the exertion of sitting up was hurting her. Yet she held his gaze.

"You would be well within your rights to never trust me again, if you ever trusted me at all. I have done nothing to earn your trust." But he couldn't utter those last words - a promise to her that he would leave. He could not offer to walk away from her, and he wouldn't - not unless she told him to. Selfish? Quite possibly. But he knew nothing could keep him away from her as long as there was the slightest chance...

Danielle opened her mouth. Zsasz's heart leaped into his throat. _This is it._

"Please-" Danielle croaked. "Could you give me that glass of water?"

Zsasz's mouth slackened. "O-of course!" He quickly handed over the glass. Danielle struggled to grip it.

"Here, let me..." Zsasz paused. "Please, may I help you?"

Danielle nodded, and Zsasz held the glass to her lips.

Not more than two sips in, she began coughing. Gut-wrenching coughs that left her gasping in pain. Zsasz could do nothing except sit closer to her, allowing her to lean on him for support, and rub the fingers under his own that still held the glass.

"There, there..." he whispered.

After a time, her coughing spell passed, and she resumed sipping the water. When she finished, she looked at him gratefully.

"Here, let me fill you another glass!" Zsasz stumbled backwards in his haste. Before he could get to his feet, he saw Danielle shaking her head.

"That's enough- for now."

He nodded.

"Thank you."

What? Had she just thanked him? He looked up. Danielle was smiling at him! It was weary and weak, but a smile nevertheless. Zsasz was astonished. What on Earth should she be thanking him for? She was bed-ridden because of _him!_

But that was one thing he must never underestimate. His Alive Girl's incredible capacity for grace. It shone from her, made her special both inside and out.

"No Danielle... I am the one who should be thanking _you_."

* * *

It was in the very early evening when Danielle ate for the first time. Her body felt dizzy and uncoordinated; Zsasz held the bowl and occasionally the spoon as she tried to feed herself.

"Here, wait, let me blow on it first!" It was beyond weird having a serial killer make sure she didn't burn her mouth on her chicken soup. Then again, the idea of Zsasz cooking for her was even stranger. And yet here they were.

"Are you in any pain?" Zsasz asked anxiously as he spooned hot soup into her mouth.

Danielle nodded slowly. "My side hurts. The painkillers from earlier are wearing off." She coughed.

"You shouldn't eat so quickly, Danielle! Your stomach might have shrank a bit while you were unconscious-" _Seriously, how and when did Zsasz become Mother Hen?_ Danielle wondered with vague amusement. Just then, a shooting pain went up her side.

"Ugh- more pills- please-" Danielle's head fell forward and she clutched her side. She heard the spoon clatter as Zsasz put down the food, and then he was gone, rushing to get more medicine from the kitchen. He came back with the whole bottle and dumped the pills anxiously into her hand. Danielle took three.

Then, they sat together, Zsasz allowing her to grip his hand, as they waited for the pain to pass.

"I'm so sorry, Danielle." Zsasz had tears in his eyes.

She looked at him for a long moment. "What happened? Why did you decide to save me?" She was confused, not sure she should be afraid of him or not. He was a killer - he had tried to kill _her_ \- and yet... Never in their history had she seen Zsasz as repentant as he was right now.

"I hadn't meant to try to kill you in the first place," Zsasz answered in a low mutter. "I- lost my mind for a moment." He glanced at her quickly. "I know I've done despicable things, and that it seems natural I would try to kill you- after all, I've done that before. But this time-"

"Was different?" Danielle asked, somewhat lightly. Zsasz mistook her tone for incredulity.

"I know it makes no sense. I-" He looked scared of what he was about to say. "I have been having flashbacks ever since I regained my memory. I haven't been normal. At the moment when I stabbed you- I remembered something."

He was silent. Danielle waited to see if he would say more. When he didn't, she prompted him gently. "What did you remember, Zsasz?"

"I remembered... I remembered... I had betrayed him. He had- tortured me. But he made me continue with him. There was a village he had taken a special interest in... He made me go slaughter all the inhabitants." Danielle shuddered; she could imagine Zsasz's skin running red with the blood of all those innocent people- "I didn't want to."

_What?_ Her eyes widened. _Had he just said-_

"I know it's unbelievable, but for the first time-" Zsasz's mouth quavered. _"I didn't want to kill anyone!_" He brushed his face, and she saw he was fighting back tears. "There was a young woman and a little boy- she reminded me of you, Danielle. I didn't want to kill them. But I had to. I had never regretted anything more in years- until I stabbed you." He turned his face to her. She saw the moisture on his cheeks and saw how very sad his eyes were. And in spite of what he had done, what he had admitted to - her heart went out to him again.

For so long she had wished that he would someday feel remorse for what he had done and decide to stop killing. But she had accepted that it was an impossible dream. But now... here he was.

He was lost and confused, and she wanted to help him.

She put her hand over his. Zsasz looked up, startled, scared, expecting reproach.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

Zsasz slowly nodded. "Yes. But not now. Not until you're well again."

* * *

Awkwardness upon awkwardness.

"Please, Zsasz, it won't take but a minute. Just help me get there."

"But Danielle-"

"What, do you expect me to just pee on the sheets? Please, Zsasz-"

They were arguing about how to get Danielle to the bathroom.

"You shouldn't be moving around," Zsasz said with gritted teeth. They had been going back and forth for five minutes. "I'll just get you a large glass-"

"I'd spill it everywhere! And then you would have to dispose of it." Zsasz made a slight face but didn't say anything. "My bladder can't hold out much longer. Do you really want to change the sheets? Then you'd have to lay me on the floor, and how comfortable would that be?" Zsasz winced; he hadn't thought about that. She had a point. "Please, Zsasz!"

He sighed. "Very well. And call me Victor, please. It feels more... familiar."

Danielle smiled as he hoisted her up, supporting her weight. "You've asked me to call you by your first name before. But since you said 'please' this time..."

They moved slowly toward the small restroom.

"I'll need you to hoist up the gown." She was still wearing the patient's attire Dr. Thompkins had dressed her in. "Then help me sit down."

Zsasz gingerly held the edge of the fabric. "But, your modesty-"

"It's nothing you haven't seen before," Danielle said with a grimace. Zsasz froze. "Zsasz?"

But he couldn't hear her. He was remembering.

_Yes._ He _had_ seen 'it all' before. In a flash, he saw it all again. He recalled so vividly her body struggling against his, her pleas for him to stop. Her groans of agony as he had forced them to- _WHY?! Why had he been so sure?! Why hadn't he seen-?_

"Victor?"

But he had seen. He knew this. He had seen exactly what he was doing and he'd justified it anyway.

A new feeling of shame swept over him. Now his skin was cold and clammy, crawling with his crime. He nearly set Danielle down right then, but she clung to him.

"What is it, Victor?"

He couldn't answer her. Instead he set her on the toilet, hastily looking away as he helped her lift the fabric. He resolutely kept his gaze on the back wall as she used the restroom. He handed her a wadful of toilet paper without looking at her.

When she was done, he took her back to bed as quickly as possible, tucking her in before stumbling from the room. "Victor...?" Her confused voice came just before he closed the door.

And then he lay down on the clean white rug in the living room, shivering and sobbing. For while he didn't know what it meant to be on the receiving end of that exact crime, he knew what it meant to be violated. Rā's had violated him by taking his life over and over again, by commanding him to do as he wanted, by forcing his voice into Victor's head. But for Victor to have invaded Danielle's body as he had... That was a special kind of violation.

He could never touch her again. He had tainted her and defiled her - with _himself_. How could he ever justify being in her presence ever again?

Zsasz muffled his sobs into the carpet. And he prayed Danielle's couldn't hear him. He had already burdened her with enough.

* * *

In spite of his shame, he couldn't stay away. He had to check on her. Though now he was realizing the full extent of his own selfishness. If he really cared about her, wouldn't he call one of her friends for her? Let someone who _really_ cared about her be here with her, instead of being here himself? Wasn't this just one more way he was forcing himself into her life?

He made up his mind to ask her this as he entered the room.

"Victor?" Danielle was still awake, even though the room was dark. "Where did you go?"

"I was giving you some space, to rest," he said evenly, though his heart was thundering. "Danielle, I was thinking-"

"Can you please stay close to me?"

"-What?-"

"Come here. I don't want to be alone right now." In the darkness, he could barely see her. She was sitting up in bed, looking at him in earnest. "I keep having nightmares." Her voice had dropped.

"What kinds of nightmares?" In spite of his shame, he moved closer to her. "Things I've done?"

"Some of them," she agreed. "Others are about Scarecrow."

_That was right. He'd hurt her too._ "Danielle, did anyone ever clean your apartment after he came here? What if he left fear toxin in here? It could be coating the furniture, the walls-"

"I hadn't had time to clean just yet."

"Maybe I could clean for you?" he offered hopefully. _Just one small thing..._

"That would be nice," she agreed. "In the morning? Please, just stay here with me tonight."

He sat down on the bed. "Are you sure?" Deep breath in. "I don't want to hurt you again."

She sighed in the darkness. "Maybe tonight, you could be my protector instead." He hesitated. "Just lay down next to me. You're not going to hurt me. I know it. I believe in you, Victor."

He was thankful for the dark when he began crying in response to her words. _She must be crazy to believe in me!_

Nevertheless, he stifled his shame and his sobs and lay down next to her. "Anything for you, Danielle." The bed was even more comfortable than he imagined. He felt a little of the tension drain from his body, and a wave of profound exhaustion hit him.

Danielle sighed in relief and he felt her settling in. Her head leaned into his shoulder. He held his breath, waiting for her to move, but she seemed to rest against him even more fully. A few minutes later, he heard her breathing get heavy.

_It must be the warmth,_ he told himself. _She just needs a body, any body, here so she'll know she isn't alone._ The thoughts raced through his mind, though he didn't dare move, not now, when she was finally comfortable.

Finally, when the thoughts had run their course, he dozed off too.

* * *

The minute he woke, he knew something was wrong.

"Danielle?" He rolled over to check on her. Her eyes were open, and dried mucus flowed from them, covering her cheeks. She groaned softly. Her skin was paler than yesterday. And he could swear there was heat coming from her.

"Danielle... can you hear me?" She did not respond. He braced himself. "I'm so sorry for this, Danielle." He pulled back the sheet and then, after a slight hesitation, pulled up her gown.

The worst sight greeted him.

The skin around her stitches was swollen and dark shiny red. There was a bad smell.

He looked at her, panicking. "Danielle! Can you speak? I think your wound is infected. Danielle?" He brushed her face with the palm of his hand. Her eyelids fluttered. She groaned again.

Her forehead was burning up.

Finally, all selfishness fled him. "I'm going to call the ambulance. Danielle, stay with me!" He darted out of the room and grabbed her phone. Dialed 9-1-1. "Operator... my friend is losing consciousness. She has an infection. Please, send help immediately!"

He should have done this before. He should never have put his own wants above Danielle's safety. He should have never removed her from Dr. Thompkins' care, never tried to take charge of her well-being. Even now, after all this time, after everything he'd learned and felt in the past few days - even now it was all about him, when it shouldn't be.

But he knew he would think about that later. Now, he needed to do the right thing.

He opened the door to her apartment and her room. He needed to make it easier for the EMTs to help her. Then he went to her room and sat by her side, holding her hand and begging her to wake up, until finally he could hear the sirens arrive. Only then did he leave her, using the fire escape outside her window to climb to the roof and out of sight.

Presently the EMTs entered her apartment. He could hear the updates on the walkie talkies of the techs below, the ones waiting by the ambulance. They brought Danielle out on a stretcher. They were already working on her.

Her face was as pale as a sheet. Danielle was wheeled into the ambulance. The doors slammed shut.

Zsasz watched her go with his heart in his throat.

**-/-/-/-/-**


End file.
